Prized Possession
by I Am Definitely Jeff Bridges
Summary: Honestly, Percy's really very grateful that he got a second chance at saving the world. It's just a shame he messed that up too. He's not sure exactly what the gods' stances on third chances are, but even if they exist at all, he's certain that his won't be without its cost. M rating because living in a titan dictatorship ain't fun.
1. In Chains

**Prized Possession**

 **1: In Chains**

 _"In the cold clear light of day down here, everyone's a monster_

 _That's cool with all of us_

 _We've been past the point of help since early April" - John Darnielle_

The chains clink softly together as Percy tries to stretch out his arms. He stops short at the sound, and has a couple of goes at easing his eyes open. His eyes, noticing the bright light of the morning, protest.

He groans, and rolls over onto his other side, managing to squint out at the stone wall with which he comes face to – well, to stone.

He groans again.

Memories of the days before come rushing back as the sleep falls from his eyes and he stretches out again, properly this time, ignoring the dull clunk of the chains between his ankles.

 _The walls exploded as the sea burst through them_.

He sits up and risks a look at the window. The sun sits squarely in its frame. He winces and looks away again.

 _He pushed forward, and foes fell all around him._

Footsteps sound in the hallway. Maybe someone heard him adjusting to his new surroundings. And groaning a lot.

 _He saw the golden eyes from further off than he had any right to._

He gropes in his pocket for Riptide, the sword he depended on so much, but found nothing.

 _He yelled something halfway between a challenge and a battle-cry, and charged._

Percy is jolted out of his daydream by the footsteps arriving in the room. He looks around again, but is blinded by the sun for a moment, until the person stops in front of it, silhouetted. He is a little too tall to be human.

"Awake at last, Jackson?"

If someone's chest voice is deeper than their throat voice, then this guy is talking with his foot voice. And, of course, his luck being what it is, it is a foot voice that Percy distinctly recognises.

"Atlas," he says. "They finally got you out from that mountain?"

Atlas stays in front of the sun, standing in the corridor between the bars of Percy's cell and the window from which the light glows, so he can't really see the titan's eyes, but he could swear they glint then.

"A suitable replacement was found," he says.

"Can't imagine anyone was as good at it as _you,_ Atlas. You've had such a lot of practice, after all."

To his credit, Atlas doesn't lose his calm, which many Titans seem to when dealing with Percy.

"I felt it was time to hand over to the younger generation," he says smoothly. "The moon goddess never seemed to know how to stay still, so I offered my spot as a way of helping her to learn."

"Always the giver, aren't you, Atlas? I remember you gave _me_ the shock of my life when I found out there were people uglier than Medusa."

"Watch it Jackson. If your memory's so good, you might want to tell me the last time an attitude like that saved your life."

Percy's mind comes up blank. He knows the jokes and quips and taunts don't exactly _do_ anything, not really, not normally. But they do help to lighten the mood and keep him moving, and here, in the titans' own fortress, what else does he have? They might not allow him to move around physically, but there's no way in Hades that he's allowing the same restrictions to apply to his mind and his tongue.

"My attitude's an old friend, Atlas, served me well over the years."

"Perhaps you're only still alive because not enough people have been paying attention to the rubbish that actually comes out of that mouth of yours."

Percy lifts up his arms so his wrists are at eye-level, before yanking them apart to make the chain between them go taut. He smiles, grimly. "Got someone's attention, didn't I?"

Atlas' eyes definitely glint this time, a sinister sparkle that lights them up, just for a moment. The corners of his mouth twitch upwards slightly, spasmodically. Percy feels himself shiver slightly. " _Someone,"_ he says, "has been wanting to speak to you every since we caught you. I think you're ready now."

Before Percy can think of an appropriately witty retort, Atlas clicks his fingers. Percy is yanked forward as a collar appears on his neck with a bronze leash, held, of course, by Atlas. Percy's hands are jerked up to his neck, joining to the leash, presumably to prevent him from attacking any monster or titan foolish, unlucky, or reckless enough to get close to him while he's out of the cell.

Percy is pulled through the door, which swings shut behind him.

Othrys certainly has its positive points, Percy has to admit. High security, for instance. He doubts very much that anyone was ever bothered by questions about whether or not they had a moment to talk about their lord and saviour, Jesus Christ, let alone things like "where did you hide all your money?" And black. Definitely black. If you liked black, then Mount Othrys was the place to go. Maybe they hold conventions for connoisseurs of black. When they aren't plotting to conquer the world, that is.

What else? Well, having spent time with Annabeth, Percy can fairly confidently say that there is a pleasing minimalist aesthetic happening here. Fairly confidently. In fact, it's minimalist in terms of human population too, as all the security comes from monsters on every black corner, who sneer and spit at Percy as Atlas drags him past them. This place would be Elysium for suicidal introverts, to be sure. Though he was reasonably certain that, other than in exceptional circumstances, suicides didn't get to Elysium.

After what seems like hours of wandering, and occasionally being dragged, around the palace, Percy decides that this place would be good for maze enthusiasts, too. He doesn't have a clue where the two of them are, so it's lucky that Atlas seems like he does. Or unlucky, as Percy is pretty certain he won't like whatever awaits at the end of their journey. He feels like Theseus in the labyrinth, so grateful not to be lost that he almost doesn't care about the inevitable Minotaur in the centre.

Eventually, they burst through a huge pair of double doors, and Percy is thrown roughly into the middle of a semicircle of thrones, almost mirror images of those on Olympus – or, those that had been on Olympus. These though, are black of course, and without any of the personal touches that might have rendered the Olympians' thrones charming if the Olympians themselves hadn't been able to blast you into ashes with a thought.

Only one throne is occupied.

Percy lies in the middle of the room for a moment, immobilised as the force of Atlas' throw brings out all the aches and pains of the days before his capture, before the very same hoists him to his feet again. He looks up at the central, occupied throne, on which sits the titan lord Kronos, who is currently busy breaking into a low chuckle as he looks at Percy.

"Tell me Perseus," comes the voice from Luke's mouth, though the voice itself is not Luke's. "Have you enjoyed the time you spent on the run? Was it worth it? All the deaths and losses you have caused and suffered since. Do you see now that it would have been better to surrender a year ago, when I took Olympus, or do you persist in your fantasy of freedom?"

Percy stands and glares at Kronos, not knowing how to reply, but refusing to give him the satisfaction of an agreement.

The smile fades quickly from the titan's face as Percy stays standing.

"Do you not know how to begin a meeting with your king? Do you not know that you ought to bow or kneel to one who controls your life?"

Percy stays standing.

"Atlas."

Atlas brings the butt of his spear stinging into the back of Percy's knees. Percy falls to his knees with a cry, and as he tries to struggle to his feet again, the titan pushes down on his head, forcing him to remain kneeling.

"Do you have nothing to say, boy?" asks Kronos. "No pleas for mercy? No angry rages or accusations about me being the _very_ _worst_ person you've _ever_ met? No tears? Doesn't it make you soil yourself that you are at the mercy of a king who can do whatever he wants with you?"

Percy has to admit, that was a chilling thought. On the other hand, there's just this one thing he wants to point out. "See, we humans – and half-humans – have this thing when we're still little – I guess you titans didn't get it – it's called potty training –"

He is cut off by Kronos' angry roar.

"DO NOT MOCK ME, BOY!"

The titan is standing now, glowering at the demigod kneeling before him.

"Half human, you say. The humans are all mine now, Perseus, and they want nothing of your kind."

He waves his hand and an image appears of mortals, hundreds, thousands of them, filling the picture, worshipping at temples of the titans. There are altars to all of them: Atlas, Hyperion, Oceanus, Krios, even Iapetus, Percy is almost tickled to see. The largest of all is clearly dedicated to Kronos. A man is chained to it, writhing desperately, hopelessly. Another raises a knife above his head, and calls over the baying of the crowd so that even Percy can hear, "For our King, Kronos, Lord of Time!" before bringing the knife down in a flashing arc – and the image shifts.

Now it's a montage of people, of all shapes, colours, types and sizes. "Those half-bloods are monsters," says one, as her friends nod in agreement. Others hold signs, declaring "Demigods Out!" or take up weapons to hunt for the bastards of the gods.

The image fades, and all of a sudden, Atlas lets go of Percy who can't quite keep his balance, so teeters,and falls to the floor. He lies on his side, gasping at the things he just saw.

"Human sacrifice..."

"Oh, you didn't know?" Kronos sounds genuinely surprised. "I'll admit it's a little archaic, but it gets the crowd in the mood alright, so there's nothing like it for boosting the power of their worship."

"You're disgusting. What are you trying to prove?"

"I'm trying to prove that pretending you even half-belong to those people is foolish. They do not want you, Perseus. They want me as their king, and all they want of you is that you die and leave them alone."

"Well, I want them. I want to fight for them. I want to show them that you're not the only option. I want to show them that the reason you killed all the experts on Greek Mythology was to stop them from telling people that you're a dirty liar who's far worse than the gods ever were."

"How sweet." Kronos crouches down beside Percy and cups his chin in his hand. "But you see, they don't get you, they get me. And _I,_ well, _I_ think that people in this country have had quite enough of experts. And you, Perseus, I can see that you're wondering where you fit in now – well, you belong to me. You're a real feather in my cap, a prized possession now. And I don't plan on letting anyone take you from me." He smiles in an almost fatherly manner, which is honestly the creepiest thing he's done yet. And then he says "Hit him," and Atlas obliges.

Percy curls up as the spear butt hits him in the belly with force, leaving him gasping for breath. The shaft snaps off against his skin, but still leaves an impression.

"You only live because I say you do, and I only say you live because right now, at this moment in time, I feel like it. Don't forget that. Don't ever forget that. After all, times can always change." And with that, Kronos straightens up, saying "The parade's in a couple of hours. Clean up, get changed, and Atlas will bring you to Manhattan. Don't test my patience again."

He stalks out of the room, leaving Percy gently wheezing on the floor.

Percy lies there for a few moments more, catching his breath and feeling the aches of all the days he'd spent on the run spreading through his body. He feels infinitely more worn than he did when he first woke up, strain running up his arms and down his legs.

He looks up at Atlas, who seems impossibly tall from down here on the floor. "The parade?" he asks.

"One hour and fifty-nine minutes now. I don't know how he always manages to get these timings exact."

"He's the titan of time..."

"Sarcasm, Jackson."

"Oh. Sorry, the radar must be a little off today." Percy tries to think back to the last time he met an immortal with any kind of sense of humour. He struggles. Maybe Aphrodite, but that was more the kind of humour that could be found in messing around with cosmic love stories, rather than, say, sarcasm or jokes. Not that any of this is really important right now.

"But what's the parade for?" he asks Atlas, whose face morphs quickly into a confused frown.

"You don't know?"

Percy shakes his head.

"I know you've been off the grid for a while, Jackson, but I thought you could at least keep track of the dates."

Percy looks up, trying to work out what it could possibly be. "What day is it? What day is it?"

"You'll work it out. I'll show you to your room."

Drag, more like. Percy is once again pulled to his feet by the chain, and led along the twisting black corridors, past the monsters that look at him with disgust in their eyes, and past windows with views obscured by thick mist. Eventually, they stop in front of a small door – or at least, small by titan standards – and Atlas says "Your room, Jackson. In you go."

Percy steps forwards, pushing the door open. Then Atlas speaks again.

"You have an hour and three quarters, not that you should really need that long. There will be fresh clothes on the bed and a shower, though I'd advise against trying to use your powers." the chains and collar around Percy's neck vanish, though the cuffs on his wrists remain. "Oh, and Jackson? Happy Birthday, as I believe the mortals say." He shuts the door, leaving Percy stunned.

His birthday.

Seventeen years old.

Exactly one year after Kronos won the battle of Manhattan.

And now he's holding a parade to celebrate its first anniversary.

Percy feels sick. He walks quietly to the black bed in the middle of the black room and curls up on the edge of the black sheets. He tries not to vomit, scrunching up his eyes and holding back from screaming out of frustration with all his might. He won't give them the satisfaction.

Percy strips off and steps into the black en suite to have a shower.

The water runs down his body, catching in his hair and spraying off his hands. He feels the pain recede a little. Perhaps not as much as it normally would but still… maybe they'd underestimated the restraints they'd placed on his powers. He lifts up a hand to the shower nozzle to catch the water, to shape it, use it – then gasps in pain and shock and sudden weakness. The cuffs on his wrists tighten, draining him immediately. He collapses to the floor in a heap of jelly, and lies there, breathing raggedly. He feels himself suffer the loss of bladder control that he had earlier mocked Kronos for suggesting.

He lies there in the foetal position. The water pools in the nooks and crannies of his body, and his head and back rub against the walls, wiping off the condensation that gathers there from the steam. There is no sound but the relentless drumming of the water and his own occasional whimpers.

He thinks back on the last year. Fleeing from Olympus, the endless quests simply to keep the war going, to refuse to accept defeat. And then, of course, the point where it all fell apart. Where he lost control.

The water probably helps to get him back on his feet sooner than he otherwise would have done, but he still shakes, and has to press his hands to the shower cubicle's (black) plastic walls in order to stay upright. Then his legs give way for a moment and he has to press them into the corners to lend support. He stands there for a while, a statue in the shape of a saltire. He wonders idly if Kronos would parade him through the streets like this, a banner at the front of his armies.

He looks down at his stomach. As expected, the curse of Achilles had left him without bruises or scars, but Atlas knows how to swing a spear, and it still hurts a little.

After a while, he manages to turn the water off, and stumbles out of the shower, dripping a path along the floor back into the room the titans had given him.

And stops dead in his tracks.

The torn and dirty t-shirt and jeans that he'd been wearing before are gone, vanished without a trace. In their place there is a neat, square little pile of clothes on the corner of his bed. They're all black, of course. And there are black shoes on the floor next to them.

He's about to dress when he realises that he's still wet, so he grabs a black towel from the bathroom to dry himself off. It's been so long since he had to that the sensation of the material against his skin is strange and foreign.

He reluctantly begins to dress in the clothes provided, going from the bottom up, the black contrasting against his pale skin – he wonders how long he's been inside for – until he reaches the new shirt he's been given. On the back there are large, bright, golden letters.

"PROPERTY OF LORD KRONOS"

He throws it on the bed, away from himself, almost as a reflex, sucking his breath in.

They must be mad to think that he'd wear that.

He wonders about the possible consequences of storming around the titan stronghold with no shirt on and shouting for Atlas. They probably wouldn't be good. But then, he's furious, so he decides to do it anyway.

He bursts out into the corridor.

"ATLAS!" he shouts. "ATLAS!"

"No need to shout Jackson. I'm right here."

Percy whirls around, and sees the titan in question leaning nonchalantly against the wall. Percy also notices that he has a new spear.

"So what are you, my keeper now? My own personal guard?"

"Believe it or not, you're still considered something of a threat. It would be embarrassing were you to escape, so I am here to ensure you do not."

Percy looks at Atlas for a moment. "You've been demoted, haven't you?"

Atlas cocks his head. "Careful, Jackson."

"What, you couldn't keep a goddess captive so now you're in charge of a demigod? They really haven't been impressed with you, have they? Is there any chance of getting the army back at all?"

Atlas' jaw clenches in barely contained rage. "I would remind yourself how our roles have ended up here. I am the captor and you the captive. Since you are clearly not ready to go, what did you come out here for?"

Percy decides not to push his luck. "What kind of a joke are those clothes supposed to be?"

Atlas raises an eyebrow in question. "Show me," he says.

So Percy does. And when Atlas sees the golden words on the back, he laughs. A lot.

"Care to share?" asks Percy.

"I simply thought that Kronos had at least learned some subtlety. It appears I was wrong. Anyway, what was your question?"

"I'm not putting that on."

"Then I shall put it on you."

When the titan reaches for Percy, he swings out at him, and simultaneously snatches at the spear. Tired, weak, and shaking from the cuffs as he is, though, Atlas easily dodges. He clicks his fingers, and, in horror, Percy feels the cuffs activate again.

He falls to the floor, and throws up. At least that makes some difference to all the black. Then he collapses further, straight into the half-digested food and stomach acid he's just thrown up all over the floor.

At least there wasn't an awful lot of it; a testament to the thin meals he'd had before being captured.

He lies there, jerking as though he's been tasered.

"You already activated them? Foolish. And a little disgusting."

Atlas leans down and moves Percy out of the puddle of vomit, before wiping his face with a cloth. Then he lifts the demigod onto the bed, where he gently pulls the black shirt over his head.

With a wave of Atlas' hand, the mess on the floor is gone, and in the titan's hand are a glass of water and a plate of sandwiches.

"Eat. You'll need your strength for today."

Percy groans and tries to take the water. His arm spasms pathetically on the bed. Atlas sighs.

"Eugh. Then I will feed you myself."

And so Percy finds the titan feeding him by hand, as well as working his jaw manually. Percy can just about swallow by himself.

He refuses the third sandwich, though.

"Eat," commands Atlas.

Percy shakes his head, feeling himself growing sick again.

"Fine."

He is given one last drink of water before the titan seizes him by the elbow and props Percy up against his body.

A moment later, they are in New York.

Not that Percy can really tell of course, as they are, as far as he can see, in a basement somewhere, but it isn't Othrys (not enough black for that) and if the big parade was to be in Manhattan, then Percy can only assume that Manhattan was where he's been taken.

Atlas hauls the demigod up some stairs, along a corridor, and into some kind of changing room, with mirrors above the desks and make-up artists rushing around. Percy is dropped unceremoniously into a chair, where he slumps, as a make-up lady hurries over and starts asking questions about his appearance in the parade, which Atlas answers.

"Is this Jackson?"

"Yes."

"Goodness gosh, he doesn't look nearly so impressive as he does in all those films and posters."

There were films about him? He was almost flattered.

"He's been… tranquillised."

"Oh, really? How does Lord Kronos want him looking for the parade?"

"I think he wanted to show Jackson off as much as possible to showcase his own power, but in this state… I think we should emphasise his... _defeatedness_.

"I'm sorry my lord, but are you certain you have the authority to decide that?"

Atlas tenses, and the woman tries to give excuses.

"It's just, I'd hate to do anything that Lord Kronos might not think –"

"If anyone complains, direct them to me. The boy can't even stand on his own, let alone appear any kind of impressive. Do what you can."

And so the next ten minutes are spent fussing over make-up and how presentable he should be for Kronos, while Percy tries to retake control of his limbs, and Atlas loiters uncomfortably by the door.

Eventually, though, it's time. The big show is ready to start, and Percy is to take a starring role.

Atlas drags him through the rooms again and outside, blinking, into the sun. Percy, dazzled, manages to turn his head around enough to recognise the area: Inwood, right at the north end of Manhattan Island. He realises with a sinking feeling that Kronos intends to march all over the island – which, depending on their speed, could take hours. And all the while he will be helpless and weak.

This area, at least, seems quiet. Perhaps it's been cordoned off as an area for the parade to prepare. As they step out into the road (or rather, Atlas does, while Percy sort of gets dragged along for the ride) he sees his ride. Kronos is standing in a black chariot pulled by black horses, dressed in traditional (black) Greek garb, just behind a huge (black) flat-bed truck with a vast cage around its bed and two wooden posts in its centre.

He sees the column ahead of the truck stretching into the distance, already moving. Kronos' loyal army of monsters and traitors, who had helped to bring down the gods in the Battle of Manhattan.

The guards by the cage open the door as Atlas and Percy approach, and the titan makes to lift his charge in, but Percy pushes him away and falls onto the bars of the cage, which he leans on gratefully.

"No," he manages to utter. It comes out garbled, distorted by the weakness still in his mouth, but Atlas gets the message.

He hears the titan catch his breath as Percy pushes himself upright and climbs into the cage, but pays it no mind. As of right now, he is determined to make his way through this parade, this mockery of the Roman triumph, standing on his own two feet. These are his people and this is his home, for all that Kronos might claim they are not. And, of course, Percy himself knows that he isn't worthy to stand and speak for them anymore, but now, in this moment, he is all they have, an island in the titan tide.

And if he gives up, then for him, the war is truly lost.

Atlas comes and gently chains his arms to the posts, before getting off and closing the door behind himself.

Then the truck's engine starts.

Percy hears steps above him and realises that Atlas is standing guard on top of the cage. The spear butt clacks against the bars with every step.

They move forwards slowly down Broadway, crawling behind the hundreds of troops in front of them, and fairly soon, Percy hears the crowds. They're quiet and far off, their voices blending together to sound like waves on the shore. Their volume grows quickly, though, and gathers to an endless roar. Percy sees banners hung from balconies, flags and icons of the titans everywhere he looks. Scythes, hourglasses – but nothing that could be mistaken for a god's symbol.

And then they round a corner and see the crowds for the first time. Percy's breath is taken away as he sees them all crammed into every corner of the street that they can get to without getting in the way of the conquering army.

And as they see him, these faceless multitudes that he has sworn he will die for, they go silent, as though by entering this procession Percy has broken some unspoken ancient law. Of course, he knows that the ancient laws hold little sway over life on earth anymore. As Kronos rounds the corner behind him, they erupt again into joyous ecstasy. Out of the corner of his eye, Percy sees Atlas waving from atop the truck.

Percy's arms tremble with the effort and his legs feel ready to give way at any moment, but somehow he manages to stay standing. He refuses to cower before their gaze. He stands, staring straight back at them, though he is almost overwhelmed by the urge to collapse and curl up when they pass the first few mortals and he realises that they will be able to see his shame shining out from his back.

Then someone throws something at him. He flinches instinctively, but it still catches him on the chin and lands on the floor, where it explodes. A tomato. He feels the juice dripping red off his chin. So the others throw things too. And most of them miss, and most of them are aimed below his head – he suspects that that is to avoid the risk of hitting Atlas on top – but they all hurt.

They wind their way through the city, visiting all the famous Manhattan landmarks, which all have cameras and TV crews there, documenting the spectacle. This must be one of the biggest events of the year in this strange new world that has dawned since Percy was last aware of anything other than where the next meals and threats were.

They move slowly past and through Central Park, see Trump Tower rising above 5th Avenue – looking like one of the few places that is doing well since the war ended – and eventually arrive in Times Square.

"No."

Percy's voice sounds weak and faint even to himself. He tries again. "No."

It still seems inadequate, for what can he do to save the souls strapped to stakes in the centre of the square?

He strains against the chains, and barely even registers that he is now standing without the help of the posts he has been leaning against for such a long time that his arms are no longer shaking, only numb.

He sees them then: Will, Travis, Clarisse – gods, when had they caught Clarisse? – and there was Pollux, and others who were too far off for him to identify. All bound to a great pyre of wood, with braziers burning all around and oil being poured over it to help it burn.

What can he do?

"Atlas. ATLAS!" he calls, desperate now.

The titan looks down at him through the grid of bars that form the roof of the cage.

"Stop it. Please, stop it now! You must – please!"

"I cannot indiscriminately let loose those that Kronos has decreed must die simply because you say I must, Jackson."

What can he do?

"Please. I'll do anything. Tell Kronos that, won't you? If he lets them go, I'll do anything."

Percy realises that what he is saying is foolish and stupid, but he doesn't really care. They're his friends. How could he just stand by and watch?

Atlas hesitates, and Percy sees it in his eyes, and hope flares up in his chest for a moment. Atlas can be cruel and evil in all the ways that titans can be, and are so often, but he is a soldier first and foremost. He has a code, of a sort, and though he hates Olympus dearly, he does not endorse suffering simply for the sake of suffering.

"Please!" Percy says again.

The titan looks and the boy, standing in chains beneath him. Then he nods slightly and leaps off the truck to go and speak with his king.

Percy can't turn properly to see what passes between them, but after a moment, Atlas comes into the cage and speaks quietly to him.

"He says that he may consider some form of mercy if you perform a simple symbolic gesture for him. We will give you your sword, but you must lay it down, kiss his feet, declare the war over, your rebellion failed, and him the true king."

Those terms seem cheap enough. What do they give him that he does not already have?

"Surely he knows the demigods won't stop fighting just because I say I have?" asks Percy.

"Those are his terms, Jackson. Make your mind up quickly, your friends are ready to burn."

Of course, it is no real choice at all.

"I'll do it," he says, and hates himself for it. But he can't hate himself quite as much as he loves his friends.

Atlas nods back to Kronos and leaves the cage, and it's with relief that Percy sees guards cut Clarisse down, along with one of the other half-bloods further off. But they stop there, and as the pair who have been freed are led away from the great bonfire, he sees Hyperion appear and lift a flaming brand up high.

The other demigod the released, he sees now, is Nico. Again, he wonders when the sullen son of Hades was captured, but as Hyperion touches the fire to the wood, he forgets about anything but screaming himself hoarse in anger and grief and frustration. He sees the children and teenagers tied down struggling, but their bonds are too tight, and none of them can break free.

He is so angry at Kronos for deceiving him and at himself for believing that it really would be so simple to save them all, but he cannot bring up the words. He screams wordlessly at the flames that rise up as the sun goes gradually down, but his voice is lost in the crowd's, which might be raised in horror or in joy; he can't tell and doesn't care which. Soon, all is consumed in the inferno, though Percy can still see figures twisting in the blaze where the demigods had been held.

He weeps as the convoy starts again, and for a moment hopes that everyone is too far away to notice, but that hope is dashed as a camera swoops in to the bars and is aimed straight at his face.

He stays standing through it all, somehow.

* * *

Eventually, they reach the ruined husk that was once the Empire State Building. There's a dais built there, with steps leading up to a great throne at the top, and Percy realises that of course Kronos would want his parade to end here. This is where he won, after all.

They pull to a halt there, and Atlas unchains Percy, ignoring the tears still wet on his cheeks. He hands him Riptide, in sword form, and reminds him: "Lay down the sword, kiss the feet, concede the war."

Percy can only nod mutely at this point. He steps out of the cage and up to the dais, watched closely by Atlas and several guards, both mortal and monstrous.

Kronos is already waiting in his seat.

"Not yet," says Atlas. "There are some speeches to be made first."

Speeches which take too long and say too little, and what they do say is mostly barefaced lying.

Prometheus comes up and smoothly (or slimily, depending on perspective) compliments anyone and everyone more powerful than himself, while Koios and Phoebe praise the brave new world order they have established. Themis speaks of the need to be uncompromising towards law-breakers and criminals, by which she basically means anyone still worshipping the old regime.

While they're speaking, Percy thinks about turning on Atlas and the guards with Riptide. What a story that would be, one final act of defiance on the anniversary of the titan lord's greatest triumph.

But then he thinks of Nico and Clarisse, and realises that for as long as he still holds responsibility for lives other than his own, he can't do anything. If Kronos only spared them for Percy's compliance, he would not hesitate to kill them at the first sign of dissent.

He sees the two demigods he saved, or saved from one awful fate at the very least, and they don't look happy. Clarisse doesn't look at him, but Nico's angry gaze burns into Percy's retinas as their eyes meet. He realises how horribly he failed the others, and how this is no world to want to stay alive in. But what else could he do?

"Time," says Atlas, simply.

The shaking comes back to Percy's legs as he steps up towards Kronos, who smiles smugly at him.

When he reaches the throne, Percy kneels clumsily and lays his sword down at Kronos' feet. He leans forwards and brushes his lips over the feet, glaring at them all the time and wishing he could turn them to stone with his eyes as Medusa would. He is conscious of the words on his back facing the crowd. Then he stands again and makes his way to the podium where all the titans have made their speeches.

He wonders what to say as he faces the crowd who so clearly loathe him, but who will be silent for him to speak if it is expected of them by their king.

"For the last year," he says, managing not to stumble over the words or lose them in his suddenly parched mouth. "For the last year, I and the remains of the Olympian army have been fighting against the forces of Othrys." He tries to make it formal, as Kronos would probably like that. It feels like it adds some kind of legitimacy to his words. "It seems clear, looking back, that too many have died needlessly. Too much blood has been spilt. There are too many wounds that may never heal." He tries not to think about Nico and Clarisse, standing in chains at the base of the dais. "But today I bring the news that the war is over." He tries not to think of all the demigods in hiding across the country, of what they would think when they hear him give up. Of what they would think of _him._ "The rebellion I led has failed, and it is clear to me that now Lord Kronos is the rightful king, the greatest king, and the only king." He steps back down to Atlas, where his chains are replaced, as he tries to block out thoughts of the friends he just saw burned to death. It doesn't work.

Kronos makes a speech then, but Percy can't hear him over his own thoughts, and then when the event ends, Percy finds himself camping in the old lobby of the Empire State Building with Clarisse and Nico, and Atlas and their guards. He can't bring himself to talk to the other two demigods. As soon as he gets inside, Percy collapses again. His legs turn to jelly and he can't push himself up with his hands. All the adrenaline that somehow kept him going through the day abandons him, and he lies on the floor, crying himself silently to sleep.

But what choice did he have?

 **So here we are! First story. Very exciting, etc. etc.**

 **All constructive feedback is appreciated of course, and I hope you enjoyed it.**

 **Oh, and updates will be highly irregular and probably infrequent. Sorry about that.**


	2. Out of Luck

**Prized Possession**

 **2: Out of Luck**

" _Don't confront me with my failures_

 _I had not forgotten them" - Jackson Browne_

That night, Percy dreams of the day Olympus fell.

It all went wrong when Percy tried to stab Luke.

Well, it had gone wrong a few times before that, but now he looks back on this moment as the point when he really screwed up.

He'd also tried to stab Luke and/or Kronos several times before, too, but nor were those really of any consequence.

This time, it was Luke talking to him. He could tell. Luke, not the monster possessing him.

"He'll defend himself," the fallen demigod said. "Only my hand. I know where. I can… can keep him controlled."

Percy stood there, Annabeth's knife in his hand.

"Please," gasped Luke. "No time."

And then his eyes flashed gold all of a sudden, just for a moment, before Luke came back again, eyes as desperate and pleading as before.

But a moment was all that was needed to push Percy into action.

He leapt at his foe, bringing the knife around in a deadly arc of flashing bronze.

Kronos seized the dagger with one hand, tore it out of Percy's grip, and threw it across the room.

He seized the half-blood with the other hand, but rather than hurling him anywhere, he held him there, trying to crush his throat. His grip was tight, and Percy's breaths were cut short and shallow. He rasped a couple of times, then lashed out with a leg.

Kronos didn't even wince, but slammed the demigod down into the floor, winding him.

The scythe materialised in Kronos' hands again, and bludgeoned down on Percy, who shielded himself with his arms, immensely grateful for the curse of Achilles.

Realising that this would go on indefinitely if he did not take swift action, he kicked Kronos again, this time in the, er… delicates.

The titan lord did wince this time, and paused his barrage of strikes, allowing Percy to break his grip, roll away, and bring out Riptide, finally returned to his pocket.

Time seemed to slow again. Not as it did when Kronos toyed with it for his pleasure or gain, but as it did when Percy was so completely and utterly immersed in the moment, his demigod senses going into overdrive, that he felt as though he knew everything happening around him. He saw Kronos' eyes flicker towards Annabeth, now closer to him than to Percy.

But when the rest of Kronos' body followed those golden eyes, and he stepped towards her, Percy was ready.

He leapt forwards, covering the distance in a few leaps and deflecting Kronos' first swing with Riptide, as Grover dragged Annabeth backwards.

Percy felt the floor tiles crack as he stepped over them, and the wind of a hurricane in his hair as he summoned it around himself. Somehow, as he and Kronos traded blows in the Olympian throne room, he pushed the titan back, and felt a thrill go through him as he realised he was actually winning now.

Of course, he'd forgotten that he was facing a titan.

Kronos staggered back from Percy's powerful strikes, and waved a hand.

The hero of Olympus found himself slowed again, moving through treacle, as Kronos stepped back, panting. He bent over, but kept his eyes fixed up on Percy, frozen there in front of him.

Percy didn't know how he was going to get out of this one.

But then Grover attacked, stabbing Kronos in the arm with Annabeth's knife. It made little impact on his skin, but the titan reacted blindly and impulsively, smacking the satyr across the face with his arm and sending him flying across the room once more.

But Percy was free now, and attacked again. Titan and demigod stood, toe to toe, neither giving an inch. The bronze and steel flashed in the sunlight that always seemed to bathe Olympus in warmth, and every movement left a ringing in the air and a breeze against Percy's skin.

Kronos, though, was not content to play fairly.

The scythe's staff slammed against the floor, punching a hole through to the cold clear skies below. Percy slipped as he felt the tile beneath his left foot give way and plummet down six hundred stories.

It wasn't much of a slip, but Kronos still grasped the opportunity with both hands.

He struck Percy in the face, sending him flying across the room and slamming into Ares' throne. Percy made to stand, but Ares being Ares, the throne was, of course, booby-trapped.

A giant axe sprang out of the seat and fell on top of the demigod. It wasn't subtle or graceful, but it was certainly a trap which made its point clearly, and was well suited to the war god's personality. The curse of Achilles kept Percy alive, but the weight of the weapon kept him pinned to the ground.

Kronos stepped towards him, but suddenly doubled up, staggering, groaning, and apparently struggling even to stay standing.

The titan's eyes snapped up towards Percy but this time, again, they were Luke's eyes.

"Percy," the son of Hermes gasped. "I don't know – I don't know how much longer I can hold him."

He seemed to be glowing with a golden light.

"Run," said Luke.

"Grover," called Percy, pushing frantically at the axe. "Get Annabeth. Get out of here. Hide until this is over. It's not safe in here anymore."

"No," Annabeth protested weakly, but Grover seemed to realise that the floor was collapsing, and pulled her to her feet, dragging her towards the door.

"GO!" howled Luke, but then his whole body shook and he stood upright again, eyes glowing gold once more.

He strode towards the pair moving too slowly out of the throne room, but Percy refused to let him harm his friends. He roared in effort as he tried to push himself up, slamming his hands into the cracked and broken tile floor.

Percy got nowhere, but then the cracks started expanding from beneath his hands, snaking jaggedly across to Kronos, across the whole throne room.

The titan lord stopped, apparently stunned. Thankfully, Grover and Annabeth kept moving, out of sight now.

 _Earthshaker,_ the growing fault lines seemed to whisper to Percy. He gave another wordless yell and pushed harder. They spread out, covering the whole floor, including directly under Kronos' feet, as well as up to the thrones of the gods themselves. Smaller cracks filled in the gaps beneath the larger ones, until the throne room floor appeared to be made of a vast, delicate mosaic, and the whole of Olympus felt like it was trembling under Percy's touch.

Too late, Kronos realised what was happening, and stepped towards the trapped hero. But Percy gave another push, another yell, more in pain than effort this time – and the ground seemed to dissolve into pieces beneath him.

The floor split into millions of tiny pieces, fracturing along every crack and widening every line the width of a hair. Kronos paused as he realised that the ground beneath him would no longer support him. And then, as though in a cartoon where gravity only took effect once the unlucky party noticed their situation, the floor gave way.

Percy felt himself falling down at such speed, surrounded by debris and the fragments of the gods' home, that he wondered if he could ever slow down, even by hitting the ground. Then he saw the ground below him, and started worrying about slowing down too abruptly.

He spread out his arms and let his orange t-shirt billow out, hoping desperately to slow himself down with any air-resistance he could muster. It didn't seem to help much.

And then he hit the ground.

Percy landed with such force that he cracked the tarmac in the street. He hoped that no-one needed to drive along there today. He realised that he had absolutely no right whatsoever to still be alive, and lay there, shaken, hurting more than he could have imagined it was possible to hurt, and hoping the Styx's curse didn't have a breaking point.

Then his eyes focused on the scene above him, and he realised it didn't matter anymore.

The Empire State Building was in ruins. Half of the building had been blown off, leaving many of the floors open to the elements, and some of those at the top gone completely. Above the top, there was nothing. On the street below, there was an awful lot of rubble.

He hoped that Grover and Annabeth had made it out in time.

Percy struggled to his feet, letting out a sharp breath at the pain of simply standing. He cast his gaze around, looking for Kronos. There was no tell-tale glow where his body might have fallen.

He saw the armies that had been warring at the base of the building. The monsters seemed to have been routed, being some distance away from the battleground. There were only a few left fighting, a small core of Kronos' most determined and accomplished troops. But the Olympian army was in disarray now, too. Scared and broken by the collapse of the Empire State Building, the party ponies had scattered, and the demigods themselves were in flight, oblivious to Percy's sudden arrival from the heavens. He could see no sign of Hades' army of the dead, which was odd, not to mention extremely worrying.

He began making his way gingerly towards the carnage around the entrance to the building, killing a couple of dracaenae on his way. By the time he got there, the demigod force had dissolved and fled, leaving only the stragglers from Kronos' army as the stronger troops gave chase. He hung back, reluctant to get involved in any more pitched battles as the adrenaline wore off, but when a hell-hound leapt at him, barking, he had no choice.

He sliced down, scattering the monster into dust, before countering a strike from an empousa rushing at him, and stabbing her through the belly. He fought mechanically, unable to gather any of the flare or ferocity he normally employed in his battles. It was enough. Soon, he stood alone in the street again, surrounded by piles of dust.

When he got to the lobby, the elevator was down. There was no light above it, the doors were closed and unmoving. He pressed the button desperately, but was given no response.

He knew that reason dictated there was no way Grover and Annabeth had made it down before the building collapsed, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it. Surely he would have known if they were dead? How could they die and leave him there in the midst of all this death and destruction when _he_ was the one who was supposed to die? _A single choice shall end his days,_ said the prophecy, but here was Percy, practically last man standing. Not dead yet.

For the first time since the battle that day had started, Percy felt the feelings of exhaustion settling in his limbs. He knew that if he collapsed now, he would be vulnerable to the monsters that would surely return soon now that Olympus had fallen.

He set off for Long Island, not knowing where else to go.

The city was waking up again, so Percy had to manoeuvre around sleepy mortals and restarting cars to get away. He scrambled into an empty car, not wanting to think about where the owner might have gone, and drove.

He wasn't a particularly confident driver yet at the best of times, and just having brought about the apocalypse tends not to do wonders for a person's state of mind. Nevertheless, Percy managed to make his way, shakily, up to the northern part of Long Island. It's a sizeable drive that takes more than an hour, and his hands kept almost slipping off the wheel from the sweat they secreted, but somehow he made it.

At least, until he crashed into a tree.

He was more or less clear of the city, but more tired than anything at this point. He didn't know how it happened. He could only assume that he'd dozed off at the wheel, and so swerved off-road.

Percy was unhurt, of course, but almost catatonic from exhaustion. It was probably a good thing for any other motorists that he was off the road now, he thought absently.

The car was clearly totalled, smoking and dented as it was. He clambered out, scanning the area.

He realised he was lucky to get this far. He was in the Pine Barrens, not an impossibly long way from camp. He knew he wouldn't make it today though. He was ready to collapse.

He stumbled into the trees, going a little way in so as not to be visible from the road, and lay down to sleep among the trees.

He entered Hypnos' realm immediately, and Morpheus sent him dreams of a world where fire was used to put out water.

There was a flood that had caused chaos and destruction. People's homes and possessions were in danger, and the streets outside were knee-deep in water. They called the fire brigade, who came bearing fire. They threw buckets of it into the houses, sprayed it in all directions from hose-pipes.

Eventually, after a long, difficult battle, the floodwater was gone.

Yet now the people's homes were on fire. No-one had realised until too late that the flames would not only consume the water, but the buildings themselves as well. Now they licked at the woodwork, charred the stone, and melted the plastics. The occupants of each home eventually fled, screaming and calling for help.

None of them considered turning to the water again.

So they stood there, and wept as they watched their homes and their lives burn away to nothing, and no-one came to help.

* * *

Percy woke up in the early morning feeling as tired as he'd gone to sleep.

Well, not quite so tired as that extreme state of enervation, but entirely ready to go straight back to sleep.

Unfortunately, the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. He should have known. He didn't normally wake while it was still dark.

He rose to his feet, as quietly as he could, pulled out his pen, and, crouching low, swept his gaze across the woodland around him.

Nothing.

He crept anxiously back towards the road. Stealth had never been one of his better areas in training, but he could still keep relatively quiet when necessary.

Still, he winced at every twig that snapped beneath his foot.

The woods were eerily quiet, bathed in darkness and a slight mist. The ground was soft and bouncy with the needles underfoot, and they helped to muffle his steps, but the landscape in general also seemed to deaden sound, leaving him with no idea who else might be around or where they might be.

He crept closer to the road.

Then, voices.

They were quiet, but sounded human – not that that was any guarantee – and it sounded like there were two of them. Percy concealed himself behind one of the larger trees to wait for them to get closer. Gradually, the voices grew nearer, and he identified them as female.

"… there's talk of bringing in Laelaps if we don't succeed."

"They must be truly desperate to find the boy. Why is he so important?"

"He's the leader of the half-bloods. Without him, the war won't truly be finished."

"But the gods are as good as dead! What cause have they left to fight for?"

"Who knows? Still, we can win great glory for Hecate if we find him."

Percy sidled around his tree to keep out of sight as they went past, then sneaked after them.

For a short while the pair spoke in more idle terms, one wondering what the other would ask of Hecate in reward if they were successful in finding the half-blood whom Percy could only assume was himself. (Answer: a virgin mortal man for her to drain the blood from. Lovely.)

They reached the car he had abandoned yesterday.

"Split up," said one. "He went into the forest here, but he can't have gone too far. You move to the left and I'll go to the right. Stay in earshot."

Percy caught himself before he could sigh in grateful satisfaction as his enemies split up, and headed into the woods after the one closest to him.

All was going well as he followed her movements closely, inching closer so as to be able to bring out Riptide and kill her – and then he stepped on a twig.

The wood snapped more loudly than was really necessary, he felt afterwards. Granted, stepping on sticks is bound to make some noise, but this particular stick, he would have been disappointed to report had he been making a report of any kind to anyone, was out to get him. It practically burst underneath his clumsy tread, splintering with all the noise and horrific consequences of an angry Minotaur.

Or at least, that was what it felt like.

Having heard the twig snap, the woman span around sucking in a sharp breath, but Percy uncapped Riptide, stepped forwards, and brought his sword up in a shining arc that separated her into thousands of tiny glittering dust particles.

He stayed frozen there as he looked for the woman's companion, and breathed easily again as he saw that she was some distance off, with his back turned to him.

He made his way cautiously, and once more as quietly as possibly, towards her.

A little closer, he saw that she had just arrived at the spot where he had slept for the night, and was prodding the disturbed earth and needles with her foot.

Then she turned around, calling "Over –"

Her eyes focused on Percy, still some thirty yards away. He hesitated realising that stealth was no longer really an option. Then he sprinted towards her, hand locked around Riptide's grip.

She swung her claws at him. He deflected the attack, and ploughed straight into her, pinning her against the tree he'd been sleeping under only a few minutes before.

She struggled, but Percy was stronger and held her still, his sword at her throat.

" _Empousai,"_ he snarled.

To his astonishment, his captive started laughing, showing pointed teeth – like empousai had.

"Quiet," he said, kicking her in the leg. Rather than the dull metallic _clang_ he expected, there was simply the _thump_ of his foot sinking into flesh.

"Ow," she protested, stopping laughing.

Confused, he kicked the other leg, only to receive the same result (right down to the "Ow," though there was more of a tone of confusion to it this time).

"What are you?" he demanded.

"We are the mormolykeia," she said. "We are Hecate's favoured servants, not those pathetic empousai."

"Oh. Is there any other difference between you apart from the legs? 'Cause you seem quite similar..."

"Foolish mortal! You will not be so cocky when we kill your precious leader, Percy Jackson!"

Percy paused. "I'm Percy Jackson," he said.

"Gah! Then you will die!" she declared, though it was hard to take her seriously as she flailed against the tree.

"Who's this Laelaps?" he asked. "One of your leaders?"

"Stupid boy! Lamia will feast on your flesh!"

"Lamia?" That name certainly rang a bell. He still wasn't exactly sure what Lamia was though.

His mind was distracted from this as she brought her knee sharply up into his groin. He doubled up and let her go.

She ran, shouting "Jackson's here! Jackson's he-" Percy threw his sword and cut her off by turning her vocal cords into monster dust.

He bent back down and let out a loud, painful groan. Then he swore quietly in Ancient Greek.

He took in a few deep breaths, then stepped out on the small road, past the crashed car, on the way to camp. He hoped that no-one else had heard the mormoly _-_ what was the singular of mormolykeia? He'd have to ask Annabeth when-

He tried to cut that thought off before it could go anywhere.

It was strange to think that she was dead. She'd always known what was going on, what she was doing, and how to do it. Annabeth had always had the answers, or a plan to get them. She was so wise and beautiful and she'd died before Percy even had the chance to tell her that. Before he'd had the chance to repay the debt he owed for all the times she'd saved his life.

And Grover, too. Grover, who was his oldest friend and had stood by his side from the beginning. The satyr who had believed in him and now had died trying to save his life and the world.

It was his fault, and he would not be able to say sorry to them in this life.

Then he thought about the afterlife with dread. What happened if the titans took over the Underworld, or if Hades faded? Would the heroes of this war be sentenced to punishment by an unjust process? Would he ever see his friends and family again?

He stopped in the centre of the road. The horizons it disappeared into were empty.

 _I've been running away_ , he realised with shame. _I didn't know how to react to losing, so I ran_.

 _But I can't let them win_.

If Percy wanted to see the people he loved again, if he wanted to say sorry, if he wanted any prospect of joy in the future, then he had to kill Kronos.

Easier said than done, perhaps, but Percy walked a little faster and trod a little more confidently when he started moving again.

He had only a single question: how do you win a war you've already lost?

So he walked to camp, hoping that Chiron had the answers.

* * *

Percy was some way down the road, with the sun rising up – despite Apollo's likely incapacitation – and the time approaching mid-morning when two significant problems with this new approach arose.

Firstly, the tiredness began to set back in. His limbs grew heavy and leaden as they reminded him of the previous day's exertions, and as they did, he slowed, his mind was clouded with a dim fog, and his thoughts were occupied with the dull aching all over. The fresh burst of adrenaline he had run off every since waking was once more wearing off, and now it was a chore simply to put one foot in front of the other.

The other problem was that there were several more Mormolykeia coming towards him on the road ahead. He'd been staying to the side, so he was fairly certain that they, in the centre of the road, hadn't seen him, but in this state he was far from confident that he could dispose of them as easily as he did the last two. The curse of Achilles certainly had its negative aspects, despite the rather handy quality of making him effectively invincible.

He was near to camp – perhaps only another five or ten minutes' walk away – and hoped that the monsters did not know how close they were to the half-blood haven.

He decided that his only option was once again to resort to stealth.

Percy entered the tree-line, moving some distance inside so that he could comfortably observe the road without risking being seen too much.

He lay and waited once more as the servants of Hecate walked past. The time seemed to stretch out into hours, though in reality it was only seconds or perhaps a minute or two.

He felt his arms shaking as they propped him up against the ground, and when he eventually got up to give pursuit to the monsters, he could barely lift Riptide.

The first was easy. She lingered and dallied behind, allowing Percy to sneak up and decapitate her barely breaking his stride. Unfortunately, there were still ten more enemies left to go.

When one stopped to examine animal tracks by the roadside, he killed her too, and when another halted saying that she needed to relieve herself, Percy swung his weapon through her as soon as she stopped moving forwards.

Things became rapidly more complicated when one of them looked behind.

She saw Percy, gave a cry of "Demigod!" and alerted all of her companions to his presence.

With an almighty effort, Percy cut down two enemies before any of them could really react, before getting into a pitched battle with the remaining foes. He thrust his sword through the first to reach him, but by the time the whole group arrived, the sheer fatigue felt like it was going to cost his life.

He would have been torn to shreds if not for the curse.

Another enemy fell to his blade, but there simply seemed to be too many.

He drew ichor from one's face as he slammed Riptide's hilt into her, but stumbled backwards as another two clawed at his own face and chest.

For one terrifying moment, he blacked out.

The world vanished into a dark void as he lost any sense of the world around him.

He staggered, and came to again just in time to deflect another attack, but it was clearly in vain, and his opponents seemed to sense it. They wore hungry smiles on their faces, as though intoxicated by his weakness, and redoubled their efforts to claim him as their victim.

He sliced another across the belly as he fell backwards to the ground, and though she dissolved into fragments of glittering dust, he knew he had lost.

His vision began to fade, but just as his vision sank into empty shadows, arrows sprang from the heads of two monsters, and another fell to Annabeth's knife.

The daughter of Athena ran to him and cradled him in her arms as he faded into unconsciousness, wishing that he could believe that she was real.

It didn't work though, and he was forced to accept that she was just a figment of his spent brain, one final comfort, or perhaps torment, for him to gaze on as he was ripped apart by these demons which he had never even heard of before that day.

He could have sworn he could feel her arms around him, though.

 **So, this chapter's been finished much sooner than I ever imagined it would be. Please don't take this speed as a sign of things to come, as you're certain to be disappointed at some point fairly soon.**

 **To dragonswoe, who asked about Kronos incinerating Luke's body and assuming his own true form, worry not! I have considered this, and all will be explained, I hope to your satisfaction.**

 **Thanks very much also to TheArrowess and the guest who reviewed.**

 **Apart from that, you ought to know that this story** ** _will_** **be jumping around different times a bit, though I intend to keep it fairly simple in a present/past/present/past rotation.**

 **Also, and I'm aware that this is likely just me being paranoid, but do tell me if you think this story should go up to an M rating at any point. I find it easy enough to write in my own personal style, but less so to say exactly for whom that style is appropriate.**

 **Reviews appreciated, of course. Seriously. They're amazing.**

 **Think that's everything. Thanks for reading!**


	3. In Othrys

**Prized Possession**

 **3: In Othrys**

" _You can tell a lot about a civilisation by the quality of the people found in its jails" - David Gerrold_

When Percy wakes up from his fitful dreams of days lost, the sun is pricking at his eyelids and peering over the edges of the glassless windows outside the Empire State Building lobby. His clothes feel stiff and creased, sleep is gathered at the corners of his eyes, and his limbs are suddenly overcome with coldness and lethargy.

He groans, as he did the day before, and waits to see if this noise will once again draw Atlas' attention. No-one materialises, so he sits up, with effort, and looks at the room's other occupants.

There are guards standing by the doors and walls, but they seem disengaged and unfocused. Of most interest to Percy are Clarisse and Nico, lying just by the entry desk. It looks like Nico is still asleep, but Clarisse is awake, leaning against the desk and looking at Percy. As soon as he meets her gaze, she drops it to the ground.

Percy is embarrassed and ashamed of how clearly she's lost respect for him. They had never been friends exactly, but to be discounted in such a way still hurts. He knows that submitting to Kronos as he did cost him any regard she might previously have held him in, but this cutting off of contact seems especially brutal.

He knows that he should leave her alone as she so obviously wants, that he should let her mourn their lost comrades in solitude, but he is desperate for all the news of the world that he's been starved of by his time in hiding. As he heads to the other side of the room, he tells himself that he isn't only doing it to give excuses.

As it did the day before, his hand dips almost unconsciously into his pocket, but Riptide is still gone. He wonders how the titans have stopped it from returning to him, and what was done with it after he laid it at Kronos' feet yesterday.

When Percy sits next to Clarisse, he sees her profile stiffen and her neck tense as she leans slightly away from him. The fact that it looks more like a reflex than a real decision actually hurts even more: she sees him as the titans' creature now; as good as an enemy.

He realises as he slides his back down the desk to the floor that he has no idea what to say to her. The awkward silence is spared as she starts to speak.

"Why did you do it?" she asks. Her voice is hoarse and croaky. He suspects she didn't get much sleep. "Why did you betray us?"

They talk in whispers to let Nico sleep on.

"He was going to kill you. This was the only way to save you."

"That's what he said to Silena."

That stings, and Percy wants to say that she's being unfair, that he's been fighting for them all along and that he would never do anything that hurt them. But then, isn't that what Silena thought as well?

"I'm not working for him," he protests, and he mentally grimaces as he realises what a meagre response that is.

"Aren't you?" she asks.

Percy gropes around hopelessly for the words for a moment. "No. No, I'm not. I did… what I did yesterday to save you and Nico. I thought it would save the others too, but it didn't and I'm sorry for that, but I still had to keep you two safe. I won't apologise for that. I've lost too many friends to this war for me to let you die when I didn't have to."

Clarisse laughs bitterly, but still keeps it muted. "You saved us? Look around you, Percy, do you really believe that?"

It's the fact that she calls him Percy that really makes it sink in how bleakly she sees the world. Not 'Prissy', as it usually is. Not 'Jackson', as she calls him when she shows grudging respect or – gods forbid – a trace of actually _liking_ him. She calls him Percy, and he knows it's because she sees no point in continuing with friendly antagonisms, either because he has sunk too deeply into Kronos' clutches or because she is so certain of their impending deaths. Neither bodes particularly well for him. He still responds, unwilling to let go so easily.

"You're alive," he points out. "That has to count for something. As long as you're alive you can fight back. Keep the rebellion alive, kill their monsters. Keep the flames of the west burning. For as long as there's a single demigod still fighting them, still resisting, the titans haven't won this war."

When Clarisse responds, it's in a mostly level tone that doesn't quite manage to hide the emotions bubbling up underneath.

"They burned ten people yesterday. It was supposed to be twelve, one for each Olympian, but they didn't burn me or Nico because you _saved_ us." She spits the word out as though it's poison. He supposes it is, in a way. "They wanted one of each of their children, but of course they couldn't quite get their hands on the right half-bloods, so they had to make do. They had a hunter of Artemis they'd caught when she raided a supply train. She was called Jessica, and she only joined a few years ago and said she was still getting used to the idea of gods and monsters. It's a shame she only ever saw the monsters.

"There was Mitchell, from the Aphrodite cabin. I don't know if you ever spoke to him. I know I didn't until we were all locked in the cell together. He was nice and he was kind and he wanted a life in the mortal world as a fashion photographer. Our jailers just found it hilarious that Aphrodite had male children at all, and in the nights they took him away and raped him, and we could hear him crying in his sleep and shrieking over and over again that he wished he was dead. We couldn't help him, of course, but the titans did yesterday.

"There was another girl called Piper. She didn't know who her mother was as she only found out she was a demigod a few months ago, but we were pretty certain it was Aphrodite. Her dad's that actor, Tristan McLean. She said she didn't think he knew about this. I imagine he's wondering where his little girl's gone, right now.

"There was a son of Hephaestus called Shane. He only came to camp just before you went on that mission with Beckendorf, so you wouldn't have met him. He wanted to act. In the days we were all kept locked away he'd mess around, making us laugh and distracting us from the fucked up world outside."

Percy pretends he doesn't see the tears gathering in the corners of Clarisse's eyes, or hear the occasional tremble in her voice. Daughters of the war god aren't supposed to show weakness.

"The daughter of Athena they had was called Pallas. She just wanted to teach. Would've been good at it, too. Always had an interesting fact, could always talk about whatever was going on. Never could stop thinking about what would happen next, what we could do to make things better. She looked a lot like Annabeth."

That's how he knows that she's telling this story with the exact purpose of hurting him. He doesn't stop her or walk away. He knows he deserves it. He as good as killed these people.

"They burned Miranda Gardiner too. They joked she'd go up like dry grass because she was a daughter of Demeter. I don't know if you were watching, but she did, after they poured gas all over her.

"There was Pollux. He said you'd kept him safe in the Battle of Manhattan, that you were brave and he looked up to you and he knew you'd get us out of there somehow, because you're a _hero_ , and that's what heroes do.

"Travis just kept joking and joking until the end because he's – was – Travis, and I spent most of the time wanting to murder him, and that was good, because it stopped me from noticing that we were all screwed.

"And Will patched us all up when we first arrived and told us that everything was going to be alright. He never faltered and never stopped encouraging us that things would get better. And he fell so much in love with Nico and it was so blindingly obvious to all the rest of us but he never told him, and now he's dead too.

"The last one was this other Hermes kid. I didn't really get to know him because he only got thrown in with the rest of us the day before yesterday, but he seemed nice enough. He wouldn't normally have been executed with the rest of us as they already had Travis for Hermes, but this kid was called _Percy._ Percy, not even Perseus, but so they decided that he'd be the perfect _fucking_ substitute for the son of Poseidon that they wanted to kill, but wouldn't or couldn't. So he died because he was unlucky enough to have the same name as a complete stranger who he'd never even met. He died in your place, Percy.

"But you say you saved me and Nico. You say that because we didn't die in the flames, we're all okay now. So now we can go and spend the rest of our lives as slaves to the titans, and sleep at night in chains. And you say we've been saved, the day after you gave in to Kronos in front of the whole world. You single handedly destroyed all the resistance that was left, because that resistance looked to you, and then you say _we've been saved._ Every half-blood still out there has just been told that they don't matter and you don't care, every unhappy mortal who wants change has been shown that change is never going to come. If this is how you save people, then next time, leave me to die."

There are no tears on her face now, the tremor in her voice is gone, and her confidence and power have only grown with her anger. Any signs of more sorrowful emotions have been eradicated and replaced by pure fury towards Percy.

"You're disgusting," she says. "So many people have died for you, and died willingly, too, and yesterday I saw you get on that stage and turn around and say that each and every one of them died for nothing. You kept us all thinking you'd sort it out, but in the end, you were nothing."

He doesn't know how to respond.

"Ahem," says Atlas, standing over them. "I hate to break apart your _touching_ reunion, but we must be moving. Lord Kronos does not appreciate slackers."

It occurs to Percy that the titan is mocking them, but he is too shaken to care. "Where are we going?" he asks.

"Back to Othrys, of course," he is told. "The celebrations here are over, but we've several days of feasts and parties to look forwards to back home. You'll be guest of honour, of course." Atlas glances at the other two, contemptuous, arrogant. "I'm afraid your friends will be lucky to get a seat… we weren't planning on an extra two mouths to feed. Perhaps I can feed them some scraps under the table."

Percy can sense Clarisse scowl beside him. He wants to tell her that it's not worth it; it won't achieve anything. Then again, he knows that telling her that is fairly pointless too, seeing how unlikely she is to listen to anything he has to say.

"You're coming with me," Atlas continues, gesturing at Percy, "but your friends will have to take a slightly more mundane route to their new home. You can prepare it to make them feel comfortable when they arrive!"

"Right," mutters Percy.

"Up," says the titan, jerking his head in the same direction.

Percy climbs to his feet.

"Arms out."

Percy extends his arms. Atlas snaps his fingers, and the chains reappear.

"You too, daughter of Ares," orders Atlas.

There is a pregnant pause, and the son of Poseidon feels as though he can pinpoint the exact moment when Clarisse chooses what to do, as the atmosphere turns acidic.

"Make me," she grinds out through her teeth.

"Guards," says Atlas, and the monsters lounging on the walls suddenly spring into action. They rush at her, spears levelled. She seizes the first, a young telekhine, and flips him over the desk, but as she does so, Atlas slaps her harshly across the face. She staggers back, and he grabs her by the arm.

Percy notices that she has the same cuffs as he does just as chains spring out of them and link together. Like his, they jerk her arms up to her neck as they connect to a collar which also appears.

Atlas lets go of her, and she is surrounded by armed monsters.

Nico, just stirring after the disturbance, is yanked up by the guards, and also cuffed and chained.

Atlas looks at the three with an amusedly patronising twinkle in his eye, and claps his hands, rubbing them together. "Well," he says, "onwards!"

* * *

When they arrive back in the titan stronghold, they appear by the main gates, a little way down the mountainside.

"Looks like a little walk for us then, Jackson," says Atlas, but there's some kind of energy in his voice that Percy doesn't understand.

Nor does he understand why the titan can't just teleport them up to the top if they got here by accident.

"Actually," said Atlas, "I think we can do without these chains, don't you? You promise not to cause any trouble, Jackson?"

Percy looks at him, blankly.

The titan clicks his fingers again and the chains dissolve in the air. There is a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, as though he is trying not to laugh at Percy.

They set off along the newly created paved paths that look as though they could have been there for centuries. The citadel rises above them, a great black mass of earth and stone, casting shadow over all the land around it.

This part of Othrys is where the people live. Since the titans came to power, a town seems to have sprung up around their base, home to those that serve their new masters, along with various official buildings like temples and barracks. After the first came to live here, others followed, creating services and businesses for those living in the shadow of the mountain. As Percy and Atlas move up the streets, there were many buildings which wouldn't have looked out of place in pre-war California, like cafés and bars, but there is also a seedier side which seems to have been exposed by titan rule. Percy sees brothels on the roadside, stores selling previously illegal drugs, and everywhere seems to have a discount offer on _Particularly Painful Poisons: See Your Ex Choke Slowly To Death, Because She Deserves It, The Bitch!_ or variations on that kind of theme.

The school they pass has billboards declaring that _IF YOU DO YOUR BEST FOR KRONOS, KRONOS WILL DO THE REST FOR YOU_. The hospital says that there is _Free treatment for those fighting the demigod menace!_ and they pass a street stall selling tours of the mountain which encompass all of the titans' finest moments _In This Golden Age And The Last!_

The simple existence of these things is worrying enough for Percy, as he sees how easily humans have adapted to life under the titans. It is the reaction of the man at the tours stand which truly unnerves him though. He is a short, fat, balding man with a Hawaiian shirt that is noisily awful enough to rival those of Percy's father. He has no time to reflect on those painful memories, though, as the man steps out from behind the counter and bows hastily, first to Atlas, then to Percy.

"M'lords," he mumbles clumsily, the words tripping over his own tongue. Then he steps backwards – carefully not turning his back, as mortals sensibly do when facing immortals now – and resumes his position as a seller of tours of dubious value.

That he bowed at all is no great surprise. They have met a number of mortals who have offered some sort of reverence as they have gone along the streets of Othrys, but they have only bowed once, and to, Percy assumed, Atlas. After all, he was only a prisoner, a defeated rebel, worthless and only worth noticing in revilement or disgust, still wearing the shirt that declared Kronos' ownership of him. Wasn't he?

"Why did he bow to me?" demands Percy.

Atlas, looks almost surprised. "You're quite famous, you know, Jackson. Maybe he's an admirer."

"If it was as simple as that, you'd have killed him for it. What's going on?"

"Then perhaps he simply wanted to show respect to a worthy foe. Are all mortals so wary of worship? No wonder none of you ever seem able to hold on to power. I remember Charles the Fifth, back in the fifteen-hundreds – or was it the sixteeen – "

"Why did he bow, Atlas?"

The titan looks at him, coldly. "I was speaking," he says, then grips the demigod by the ear as though he were nothing but a naughty schoolboy, and _twists._ Percy gasps in pain.

"Anyway," continues Atlas, "Charles was Holy Roman Emperor, Spanish Emperor, and I seem to remember had some very fetching land in the Netherlands too..."

Atlas talks on, rambling of centuries long gone, and Percy part-wonders how the titan knows so much if he's been trapped under the sky since the first Titanomachy, but is mostly preoccupied with the citizens of Othrys around him. All who come close to them bow, and though five minutes ago he would have assumed it was only to Atlas, now he begins to wonder if it is to them both. There are others who, like the tour-seller, bow twice, and as he strives to hear the words spoken by those who offer a brief, quiet, verbal tribute, they always seem to be addressed to _lords_ rather than _a_ lord. _Lords_ , as in plural, as in more than one, as in not just Atlas, but -

Why is he being treated as though he was the hero of the titans, and not of the gods?

The surreal experience continues as they arrive at the entrance to the fortress itself. The guards at the gates uncross their spears and bow deeply, and just inside, one of the servants – or perhaps slaves, as Percy isn't certain if they are paid for their work – flings herself to the ground and lies prostrated at their feet.

"My lords," she blurts out, "my brother. He stole some bread from the kitchens because he was starving, but he's been sentenced to death for it. Please, my lords. Show mercy. Show mercy!"

She grasps at Atlas' knees in the traditional Greek pose of supplication, but he shakes her off and carries on through the hall. She lunges for Percy's legs, wrapping her arms around them.

"My lord, please!" she cries, weeping and hysterical now.

Atlas grabs him and pulls him away before Percy can tell her that he just doesn't have that kind of power here.

They leave her there, sobbing on the floor, as they hurry through the black passages.

They could be going anywhere for all Percy knows, as the corridors all seem to hold the same shape, and at times he feels like they're going around in circles. Eventually though, he is marched through a pair of double doors and presented to a table of feasting titans.

It is a large table, and Percy quickly counts that there are seats for twenty six people, a long rectangle stretching across the length of the room. It is only about half-full, and Percy doesn't recognise all those sitting there. One of those he does recognise; however, is Kronos, sitting at the head of the table. He gestures for Percy and Atlas to come and join him.

As they move up the table, Percy identifies a few of the other deities seated there, some of whom he'd met before, and others which he works out from his vague memories of myths lessons back at camp.

Prometheus is sitting near the doors, and winks slyly at Percy as he walks past. Hyperion is there, and he assumes that the other glowing titan must be Helios.

Kronos points at the seat to his left, and Percy sits there, with Atlas then placing himself to Percy's left.

Opposite them are Pallas, who looks to have been in conversation with Kronos, and another, younger looking titan. Percy double takes at his appearance, thinking for a moment that this titan is his mirror image, with the dark hair and tanned skin. Then he raises his eyes, and Percy sees that they are red, with fire and anger convulsing around one another inside them.

Pallas seems to be talking to Kronos about something, but as Percy sits, he cuts off, looks angrily at the demigod, and abruptly says to Kronos "Excuse me my lord, I have much to attend to."

Kronos nods, and Pallas promptly stands and leaves.

"What is this?" asks Percy, and the table hushes, as though hanging on his every word. He feels like an exotic zoo exhibit.

"What is this..." Kronos opens his arms, inviting Percy to fill in the gap.

"Well… all of it. People are - "

Percy is cut off as Atlas slams his head down into the table. He gasps in pain and shock and reflexively swings out at Atlas. The titan catches his arm by the wrist, though, and, once more, _twists._

Percy is pushed roughly back into his seat.

"No trouble, remember Jackson?" Atlas asks. "I believe you meant to call him _my lord._ "

"Right," Percy says through clenched teeth. "My lord."

"It doesn't _have_ to be _my lord,_ " says Kronos. "It could be _sire_ , or _Your Majesty_ , or some other title which reflects my position of power over you. Anyway, you had a question?"

"Yes. My lord."

"Ask away."

"Well, yesterday I woke up in a cell and then spent most of the day in a cage."

"You _are_ my prisoner, Perseus."

"Right. But today I woke up and my chains were taken off, and there are people out there bowing and calling _me_ my lord, and I'm busy wondering why, when all of a sudden I'm taken in here and asked to sit down at whatever this is."

Kronos raises an eyebrow.

"My lord," finishes Percy.

The eyebrow goes down again. "This," says Kronos, "is breakfast. Give your order to a slave, and it will be with you shortly. We could do it by magic, of course, but that doesn't really yield the same thrill from the looks they give you when they drop something. It's really quite hilarious."

"But why?"

"Because they're so obviously terrified out of their tiny little minds that I'm about to vaporise them, of course," says Kronos, before addressing the slave who has materialised at his elbow. "Now I'd like a proper cooked breakfast. Bacon, eggs, sausages, you know. Oh, and if you could lay hands on some black pudding, that would be _wonderful._ "

"Black pudding?" asks Percy, wondering what it is.

Kronos just looks at him as though he's stupid. "Yes," says the titan lord.

Percy shakes his head and goes back to his original question. "But why are people bowing to me? And why am I eating breakfast with you? And, hang on, I thought you didn't even need to eat?" Then, to be safe, he adds "My lord."

"Make your order, Perseus. You're keeping the waiter waiting."

"Er," Percy begins, "what have you got? Is there, like, a menu?"

"We can get hold of m-more or less anything y-you might desire, m-my lord." stammers the man.

"Oh. Thanks. Could I have pancakes, please?"

"Of course, my lord." The waiter scurries away, leaving Percy feeling bad for scaring him, but still not knowing what he did. He wonders if they do food in blue, but knows better than to ask for it. He'll probably throw up if he sees blue food. Not that there's really anything left in his stomach to be thrown up, but still. Then he realises that he's actually starving as his stomach rumbles.

"Now, to answer your question," starts Kronos. "I imagine people are bowing for the same reason why that poor man almost had a nervous breakdown when you ordered. They are really rather scared of you. Almost as much as they are of me, it seems, which is quite impressive. We eat because we want to, not because we need to. After all, the war is won, and we are the victors. Now, that seat you are sitting in used to be my wife's. I don't know if you've heard of her or not, she's been laying rather low recently. Her name is Rhea. Sadly, she is no longer one of us, ever since she betrayed me. So, as my new most treasured piece of property, it seems only right that you should get her place at the table. Speaking of which, you ought to be introduced to the others here with whom you are not properly acquainted."

Kronos introduced each titan by name, going clockwise from Percy's left around the table.

"You know Atlas of course, but next to him is Krios, and then Mnemosyne. Sadly Oceanus and Tethys… prefer to spend their time beneath the ocean, and the next spot is normally Iapetus'. Then you can see Helios and Selene, Eos, Lelantos, and there are Leto and Metis' old spots before they chose to betray us by sleeping with Zeus. You've met Prometheus, and Epimetheus used to have the spot next to him. Then Menoetius, then Asteria and Astraeus, Phoebe, Koios, Themis, Theia is the one next to Hyperion, and that young titan who seems to bear a striking resemblance to yourself is Perses. You can call him Percy, though. We all do. I believe you've met Pallas, who left just as you arrived?"

"Briefly. My lord."

"And that, I believe, is everyone."

"But why are people bowing to me?"

Kronos gives him a look. "Perhaps because they believe you to be a rather cleverer enemy than you clearly are. Now, aren't you going to say hello to everyone?"

Percy looks at the expectant faces of psychopaths, murderers, and Helios, who just looks sweaty and nervous. "Hello," he says, "er, my lords. And ladies."

"There we are. I'm sure we'll all get to know each other wonderfully well over the coming years we're to spend together!"

The food arrives, much sooner after being ordered than it really has any right to. The waiter bows and scrapes as he places it on the table, along with the orange juice Percy then asks for. Percy picks at his pancakes. He has little appetite. Kronos, on the other hand, tears at his food, stuffing the contents of the oversized plate into the maw that opens up in his face.

"Might I be excused, my lord?" asks Percy. "I'm not very hungry."

"Someone went to great trouble to get you that food Perseus. Aren't you going to show a little gratitude by at least eating it?"

Percy has the surreal feeling of being a petulant child, and though he knows its ridiculous, he can't help but feel a little ashamed of his request. He knows he'll not be allowed to leave, though, and hunkers down over the pancakes, trying to force more of them down.

"Now, a few announcements," says the titan lord. "Percy, you'll be sharing guard duties for Perseus with Atlas. You can sort out your scheduling between yourselves. Make sure he is comfortable and happy." He smiles paternally at Percy, who feels his soul shrivel up and die a little. "In an hour or so, our day of gladiator combat starts, so I expect to see all of you in the royal box at some point over the course of the event. I am aware, of course, that you may have other commitments, but that is no excuse for sloppiness. Finally, I will be giving Percy the tour of Othrys tomorrow, so I would be grateful if you could refrain from bothering us too much as I show him around."

"It's an outrage."

All eyes turn to the speaker, whose name Percy scrabbles for in his mind, struggling to remember all the titans who had been introduced only moments earlier. He thinks that this one is Menoetius.

"Oh, really?" Kronos' reply sounds innocent enough, but Percy knows the titan lord brooks little argument with his choices. It is little surprise that when he looks back to Kronos, he can see the set jaw and narrowed eyes that threaten to turn, in an instant, to full-on wrath,

"You may be our king, Kronos, but you can't do anything you want. You can't give him a titan's privileges. You can't feed and clothe him like royalty. You can't give your little whore Rhea's chair and then parade him round Othrys for all the world to see, like he's something to be proud of. We should kill him, or if you can't bring yourself to do that, then leave him to rot in the cells with the others. Put him in the arena and see how long he lasts. But he's spent his life trying to stop us. I won't act like the boy is anything but scum."

Percy wouldn't be surprised if they'd had arguments about this before. It seems a sudden outburst for the titan to just come out with, and he's aware that he's been vying for the spot of public enemy number one over the last year or so. Eyes turn back to Kronos to see his reply, and Percy can't quite stop the shiver that runs down his spine when Kronos turns his eyes to him. There is pure evil in their golden shine. He is thankful when the titan lord looks back to Menoetius.

"I do not deny that the boy is scum. He is simply scum that I have a use for. I am able to put him to that use partly by virtue of the fact that, as you pointed out, I am your king, and partly because I caught him and he is my prisoner. Do not assume that I forget the wrongs that have been done to me. Everyone on this pathetic little planet will get what is coming to them, in time. Until that time, and as part of my means towards that end, I will do as I wish with Perseus. He is mine, mine alone, and all mine. He knows it, too. Where is that fire his is famous for? What can he do to us? He is bound by chains and magic, and cannot escape. It seems that everyone except you can tell that Perseus Jackson has rather gone… wet."

Kronos looks at Percy, who stuffs the remains of his last pancake into his mouth as an excuse not to talk.

"You can go to your room now," he says. "But you'll need to come to the arena soon. Atlas, show him the way."

As Atlas leads Percy out of the room, Menoetius' silent gaze pursues him out of the room as loudly as thunder.

* * *

There is a strange sort of peace in the quiet darkness of the room that is now to be Percy's home. He feels as though he is on an island, isolated and cut off from the rest of the world, the nightmarish land run by Kronos and his cronies.

He can half-sense the raging tides of war and death sweeping around him and assaulting his defences, but is apathetic towards them. They seem so distant and disconnected from him that they cease to be real.

He'd found a new set of black clothes on the bed, replete with statements of subservience to the titans. He feels like a racing driver dressed in overalls smothered in corporate logos, but one forced to wear them for losing a war rather than for any monetary gain. There is another _Property of Lord Kronos_ on the back, but it is joined by _Love Your Masters_ and various other slogans.

He lies on the bed, which is surprisingly soft and malleable around his body. He sinks into it and drifts into a semi-conscious state, where he remains, unmoving and uncaring.

All good things must end though, and this brief respite as Percy dozed on the bed was truncated by Atlas rapping on the door and then barging in without waiting for an answer.

"Time to go," says the titan. "Kronos is waiting."

Percy knows that nothing good can come of these gladiatorial battles, but, conscious of the cuffs still on his wrists, he doesn't know of any way to avoid attending. He follows Atlas silently along the corridors, brooding.

The titan, though, notices his silence, and drops back to walk beside him.

"You're very quiet today, Jackson."

"Oh? Should I try and look happier that I'm being taken to watch people kill each other? Is that what it would take to really brighten your day?"

"Well, it certainly wouldn't hurt," Atlas says mildly. "I like your ass, by the way."

Percy winces. The part of his trousers which cover up that particular area of his body declares that all onlookers should _Hail to the King, Baby!_ It's neither a good look nor one with sentiments he can really get behind, and Atlas knows it.

He suspects once more that the titan is trying not to laugh.

They arrive at the arena somewhat sooner than he expected, meaning that it's surprisingly close to his room. He wonders if there will come a day when he can go somewhere on the mountain without needing to pack supplies for the journey.

The two of them emerge onto the front of a balcony lit dimly by the sun, which is largely obscured by clouds above.

It looks out onto an arena about the size of the Colosseum – which Percy knows all about from Annabeth (actually an oval, not a circle; built from 72-80AD; average attendance of 65,000 people; funded with spoils from the Second Temple in Jerusalem, and so on) – with a sandy base spreading for almost a hundred metres from side to side, and thousands of seats filled with a baying mob of monsters. The sand is, for now, empty.

When Percy looks behind him, at the rest of the balcony on which he stands, he sees that he is in the royal box.

The seats here are luxurious, rich leather and velvet moulded over smooth marble. Kronos lounges in the largest chair, in the centre of the front row. The seat beside him is empty. Most of the titans from breakfast are also there. There is another too, a woman who is standing by Kronos, speaking quickly and quietly to him. Both seem intensely focused.

Percy's ears just tune into her saying "...if we don't find Poseidon soon - " when Kronos cuts her off.

"Ah!" he exclaims as he catches sight of Percy. "Perseus, this is Tethys. I don't believe you've met? She rules the seas with her husband, Oceanus, who I'm sure you'll get to meet at a later date as well. Tethys, this is our most famous – or should that be infamous? – prisoner, Perseus. You've heard of him, of course."

"Many times." Tethys seems to give the impression of nodding her head slightly, but Percy, being without a microscope, is unable to detect any movement. It's a curious way of giving the impression of respect without giving any – well, actual respect.

The titaness turns and moves to her seat at the side of the box, while Kronos comes forward to the edge. Percy only notices that the crowd have gone silent when Kronos seizes him by the hand and raises it above his head as though he were some kind of champion, turning him to look out at the arena once more, and they begin to shout again. This time, they are louder than ever before, seemingly devolving into frantic ecstasy as they scream at the titan and the demigod standing on the balcony at the edge of the pit.

After a minute or so, as Percy's arm grows sore from the taller titan holding it up high, Kronos lets go and it is allowed to drop. Then the titan's arm snakes behind his back and around his waist, coming to rest just at the top of Percy's thigh. Kronos guides him to the seats in the front row which Percy assumes he once shared with Rhea, and they are seated.

Kronos signals to a herald at the side of the box, a pale, skinny man who'd made an attempt to dress smartly but had clearly come up several inches short. The clothes hang uncomfortably on his frame. The spectators calm as they see him step forward to make his announcement. He stands at the very edge of the balcony and bellows with a volume Percy had not known the human voice was capable of producing.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, TITANS AND MONSTERS, TODAY, FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE, FOR ONE DAY ONLY, LORD KRONOS IS PLEASED TO PRESENT A WAR OF WARRIORS, A BATTLE OF BRUTES, A TUSSLE OF TERRORS AND A DUEL OF DEMIGOOOOOOODS! WE BEGIN WITH THE MOST EXCITING FIGHT TO COME TO OTHRYS IN CENTURIES, A BATTLE BETWEEN BRAINS AND BRAWN, BETWEEN THE SONS OF ARES AND ATHENAAAAAAAA!"

Percy feels his gut twist.

"ON MY LEFT, WE HAVE THE SON OF ARES!"

He recognises, from a distance, Sherman of the Ares cabin.

"AND ON MY RIGHT, THE SON OF ATHENA!"

When he sees that it's Malcolm, his stomach drops further. He knows Sherman, has fought with him and respects him, but he _likes_ Malcolm, even if they're not quite the closest of friends either. The son of Athena is close to Annabeth, and Percy has spent enough time with him to know that he is clever and decent and _doesn't deserve to die like this._

 _None of us do._

Both are armed with sword and shield, but Sherman's are both slightly larger than Malcolm's. He'll have greater reach and power, but will struggle to manoeuvre himself so well. Each also has a helmet in the crook of their elbow. Malcolm wears grey armour as befits a son of Athena, while Sherman is in fiery red.

The pair both look, understandably, tense, but Malcolm a little more so. They come and stand before Kronos' box, and bow stiffly. When he straightens up, the son of Athena glares at Percy. Then he turns to take his position facing Sherman.

"COMBATANTS, PUT ON YOUR HELMETS!"

"What do you think of Stentor?" asks Kronos, leaning over. "We picked him up from the remains of Hades' army last year. He fought in the Trojan War, you know. I thought it fair to give him another chance to work for the winning side."

"That explains why he looks half-dead," says Percy, absently. "He's very loud, though. My lord." His heart isn't really in the faint jibe. Pieces are falling into place in his mind.

The herald, Stentor, is silent for a while, arms waving wildly as he attempts to build anticipation for the moment when he will start the fight. Out of place and shaky as he looks in the titans' box, the monsters need little urging, and are whipping themselves up into a frenzy.

"BEGIIIIIN!"

Sherman rushes at Malcolm, swinging and striking brutally. The son of Athena suddenly seems lacklustre and lackadaisical. He parries weakly, and takes too many hits on his shield, so it dents slightly and his arm must be aching.

Percy turns his head away from the match, but Kronos notices, and says "Eyes front, Perseus." Perses comes and stands next to him, an intimidating presence.

"My lord, you've spent ages trying to make things comfortable for me," states Percy.

"Nothing but the best for you, Perseus. There can be no pride in showing off a decrepit shell of a demigod. We must keep you in prime condition, or else who will be impressed?"

Percy keeps his eyes fixed on the fighting. Malcolm is being pushed back by the sheer intensity of Sherman's attacks.

"That's the thing. I mean, effort's gone into this. There are new clothes, a nice room, good food. I seem to be getting everything that used to belong to Rhea."

Kronos' eyes flash. His arm jerks towards Percy and stops, as though he realised what he was about to do and stopped himself just in time. The arm is slowly rescinded and settles on the rest of Kronos' chair. The titan breathes deeply, points at him, and simply says "Lady Rhea, to you."

Malcolm is almost backed against the wall now, but a wild swing by Sherman allows him to duck out under the other's arm and find new space. The crowd roars.

"Lady Rhea. Right. I've been thinking, though. It's been nice enough, if strange, that you're doing these things for me. And I've been wondering what sparked it off."

"Haven't I already told you?"

Sherman hesitates a little before his next attack, as though he expects Malcolm to trick him or make an unexpected move. They don't circle, but they both shift their weight from side to side, and keep a little distance away from each other.

"No," says Percy. "No, I don't think you have."

"When I asked for mercy yesterday, Atlas said that you'd already decided they had to die, but when I said I'd do anything, you changed your mind, or at least part of it. You changed your mind very quickly indeed."

Sherman attacks again, catches Malcolm in a poor stance, and lands a glancing blow on the son of Athena's arm. The armour prevents the worst of the damage, but he drops his shield, and backs off holding the arm gingerly.

"You simply underestimate your importance to me, Jackson."

"I just misunderstood the way I'm important to you," continues Percy. "I thought I was just a trophy that you could show off, a spoil of war. But I'm not, am I?"

Malcolm seems to have been jolted into action by the injury. He attacks desperately, fighting Sherman side on, keeping his injured arm back, and makes cuts and thrusts almost like a fencer. Sherman is equal to them, though, and Malcolm fails to penetrate his defence.

"I have no idea what you mean, Perseus."

"Because all this, while you're being nice to me and giving me what I want – it's all in public view, isn't it my lord? I'm being treated less like a prisoner of war, and more like a collaborator."

Sherman is attacking again, now, but Percy doesn't know for how long. The balance seems to be swinging this way and that, as Malcolm danced around Sherman, putting in the more impressive strikes, but also more vulnerable without shield, and, Percy noticed, slightly lighter armour. Gradually, though, Malcolm was once more being backed towards the wall.

"As I've said, no-one will be impressed I've captured a weakling. We must keep you at your best."

"That's not it at all. You know that the resistance still exists, so you have greater priorities than just showing off. I'm their figurehead, so whenever I'm seen to be in league with you, it destroys people's faith in the old order a little more, and gives you more power. This is showing off to the mortals, but it's psychological warfare against the demigods."

Sherman has Malcolm backed against the wall now. He swings, but Malcolm dodges and the son of Ares is thrown off balance by the sword striking against the stone. Sparks fly. Sherman makes a hasty thrust in Malcolm's general direction, but the other half-blood is ready. He catches Sherman's sword with his hilt-guard, twists, pushes down, and all of a sudden Sherman has to stagger back, unarmed. It is the same disarming move Luke taught Percy all those years ago.

Percy carries on. "There are going to be demigods who still support me, and some who believe I've turned on them and are helping you. There might be some who try and rescue me, but they won't be a majority and you'll beat them easily. They won't be so motivated, they won't feel so strong, and all the while, as they fight amongst themselves, you get more and more powerful. You think that if you can convince them, or at least some of them, that I work for you now, then you'll win."

"I'm impressed Perseus. Clearly you're not just a pretty face. Yes, I am using you to divide the half-bloods. You are, to all intents and purposes, one of us now. Just remember, if you're ever thinking of not doing as I say, that you are not the only one you imperil. I will kill everyone you care about if it will keep you loyal to me. I have no qualms about this. Your friends you saved in New York are arriving tomorrow, and if I were you, I would think about them before you think of anyone else. Death comes easily to mortals, but they seem to find the deaths of others especially hard."

Sherman hurries backwards, blocking Malcolm's attacks with his shield, but he can't get around to his dropped sword. Malcolm always keeps himself between the two.

"You could not even bear to see your friends fight," says Kronos.

Sherman makes a last-ditch attempt to reach his sword. He rushes at Malcolm, dodging the first swing and leaping shield-first into the other half-blood's face. Malcolm falls back, but as he does so, brings his leg straight up, hard, between Sherman's legs. The son of Athena gets up, bloody nosed, just before the son of Ares, and holds his sword to Sherman's throat. The crowd cheer wildly. The pair on the sandy Arena floor look up at the royal box.

Kronos rises, and stands at the edge of the box. He raises his arms for quiet, and the noise is duly muted. He turns to look at Percy, and smiles. His face is in a slight shadow as he does so, and his teeth appear unnaturally white. "Allow me to demonstrate my point," he says.

He extends his right arm over the balcony edge, and, after a moment, points his thumb down. The monsters all around scream.

From his spot in the box, Percy can see Malcolm look along his sword at Sherman, who doesn't seem to react. Then Malcolm looks up at the box. He lowers the sword, and the whole stadium goes silent. Then he sticks the sword in the sand and helps Sherman up.

Percy's heart soars for Malcolm, because he has not given up, but then Perses is in the arena and Percy doesn't know how he got there and he brings his spear out and knocks Malcolm aside and then Sherman is _screaming_ and the crowd are screaming too and Malcolm's being dragged away by the guards and Sherman is still _screaming_ and Percy can't breathe and Kronos is standing there in front of him just relishing the bloodshed and smiling _. Bastardbastardbastardbastard._

"You should remember," he finds himself saying. "No-one always gets what they want. Not even you, _Lord Kronos_."

The titan whirls around and before Percy can react he has been seized around the jaw and gripped tightly. "Oh, sweet naive innocent pure _stupid_ Perseus. Don't you know I have ways of getting what I want?" The murder he just saw is written all over the titan's face. He looks as though he went mad many centuries ago during his stay in Tartarus. Maybe he has always been mad. "Anyone who doesn't give me what I want dies, slowly and painfully. It's invariably effective. You should think about what you want, and watch your tongue. For your friends' sake."

There are other events throughout the day that Percy is expected to watch, and so does, but the demigods involved are either ones he doesn't know or recognise, or fighters who somehow all manage to defeat the monster or animal they have to face. None make quite the same impression as the first match of the day.

When he leaves, escorted by Perses this time, he sees Atlas and Tethys move to speak to Kronos. Then they are gone from view, and he is back in the darkness of the corridors.

 **And there's another.**

 **All reviews absolutely appreciated, constructive criticism is great, and if I've made any horrible mistakes, pointing them out to me would be wonderful.**

 **I never expected this chapter to get this long, and it's great that it did, but it also made it a pig to edit afterwards. So sorry if there are problems.**


	4. Out of Eden

**Prized Possession**

 **4: Out of Eden**

" _Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts." - Winston Churchill._

Percy woke up to the sound of waves rolling up the beach, the sight of early sunlight creeping through the windows, and the feel of warm, crisp sheets covering him on the bed. He was in the Big House infirmary.

"You drool when you sleep," came a voice from his right.

He sprang up, embracing Annabeth fiercely, and he was laughing and she was laughing and for a moment all was right with the world. Then the previous day's events came rushing back to him with a deluge of aches and pains that covered his body and left him struggling to stand. He staggered and fell back onto the bed. Annabeth gasped sharply as he knocked against her arm falling down. He noticed then that her arm, broken by Kronos, was in a sling, and clearly still tender.

"Gods, I'm so sorry!" he said, alarmed.

"No, it's fine." That might have been the case, but it obviously still hurt a lot.

She rearranged him on the bed, propping him up against the headboard, and raised a glass of nectar from the bedside to his lips.

"Here," she said.

The drink of the gods was sweet, and warmed his throat as it ran down inside him. The fatigue in his limbs was eased a little, and his body relaxed as he drank it gratefully. The glass emptied in no time. Annabeth put it carefully back on the bedside table. Percy, by this point, had only questions.

"How did you survive? I thought for that – that – " He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence, so he changed it. "Is Grover okay? What about everyone else? And how did you get here?"

"Hey, Seaweed Brain, calm down. It's all okay. It's okay." Annabeth couldn't quite hide the tremor in her voice as she said that.

He looked her in the eye, with all the meaning and power he could muster behind a simple look. "Tell me."

She sighed, her eyes downcast. "Percy, you should – "

"Please."

She looked at him properly then, saw the hope and terror in his eyes, and relented. "Hermes got us," she said. "We were running – or trying to – but obviously not fast enough. We were injured, and the floor started cracking up, and… we thought we were going to die. It was strange. I almost just gave up and accepted it then and there. Grover kept me going then. He reminded me that you were fighting for us. That we couldn't let you down. Then Hermes appeared in front of us. He said… he said that he was going to get us to safety before the gods fought Kronos properly. He transported us here, but didn't seem to arrive himself. I don't know if that was because he just left straight away, or if his throne was destroyed… nothing like this has ever happened before."

There was no accusation in her voice, but Percy still felt terrible. Of course nothing like this had ever happened before. No-one else had ever screwed up quite so spectacularly as this before. He played the day over in his mind, and couldn't find anything he should have done differently. Kronos was just stronger than he was. He had lost before the fight began.

Annabeth carried on talking. "We cleaned ourselves up a bit here, and then Argus spotted you while he was sweeping the area for enemies. We got over as soon as we could, fought off the empousai, and here you are."

Something twitched at the back of Percy's mind. "Mormolykeia," he said.

"What?"

"They were mormolykeia. Not empousai. Not sure what the difference is, but they seemed to think it was important." She looked at him askance, so he gave her a lopsided grin, and added "Thanks anyway, though."

Annabeth just raised an eyebrow.

"...Thanks… a lot?"

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at him. "Anytime, Seaweed Brain. Now could you put some clothes on?"

It was at this point, of course – after a good few minutes of conversation – that Percy realised he was wearing only – well, only clothes that he might keep in the part of his cabin where he kept underwear. They might be out of place in, for instance, a shirt storage spot. He wasn't sure whether or not to be relieved that these particular clothes appeared to be the ones he'd put on yesterday. On the one hand, at least Annabeth hadn't been through his underwear drawer, or – gods forbid – seen him naked. On the other, he was fairly obviously dirty, sweaty, and generally filthy.

"There are clothes over there. I'll wait outside."

"You're laughing at me!" he protested.

"Yes. I am," she said. Laughing.

After Annabeth left, Percy checked the pile of clothes left out for him. He saw, with a sinking feeling, the bright whites of Nemo's eyes on the top of the pile. She had, after all, been through his underwear drawer.

He made quick use of the infirmary showers, and dressed quickly in jeans and a fresh orange t-shirt. He hesitated before stepping outside though, wary of having to face the people he had just let down, perhaps fatally. The bullet had to be bitten, though, and out he stepped.

On the terrace outside the Big House, he found Annabeth sitting with Grover, Chiron, in his wheelchair, and Argus.

"Perrrrcyyy!" bleated Grover, leaping up and embracing him. "We thought you were dead!"

"Yeah, me too, G-man," said Percy, hugging him back. "Me too." And then, more quietly, so quietly that for a moment he doubted he'd even said it - "I thought I killed you." Then he felt Grover tense, and knew he'd heard.

"You didn't, though," the satyr whispered back. "That's the important thing."

Percy let go and turned to the other pair at the table. Argus nodded silently at him.

"Percy, my boy," said Chiron. "It's good to see you up and about again." The centaur's voice was tired and weak, stripped of any artifice or false optimism. His eyes couldn't help but twinkle briefly, though. "Have a seat."

Percy sat, and, unable to stay silent, asked "So what now?"

Chiron sighed. "I don't know. The gods seem to have gone silent. We've had no word from them since yesterday. The offering braziers aren't working, either. There doesn't seem to be any significant fighting going on at the moment, but neither side seems to have claimed a decisive victory, so we can't be certain that the titans actually have won."

"But, Chiron – I destroyed Olympus – how can the titans not have won?"

"I don't know Percy. But we should be thankful for that for now. In any case, nor are they defeated, and we will need to carry on fighting. You should rest here until you're better, we'll see if other demigods make it back, and perhaps by then, a course of action will have made itself clear to us."

"Chiron, I lost the war."

"Percy..." interjected Grover. "you didn't..."

"Yes I did," he said. "I brought down Olympus. Brick by brick, just like Luke and Kronos wanted. I made the wrong decision. We've lost, and it's my fault."

"Percy..." said the centaur.

"My fault, Chiron. Nothing you can say will change that. The gods are gone."

"Percy, look at me."

Percy did. Chiron looked sad. He had reason enough to, Percy supposed.

"Percy, we all make mistakes. Granted," he said, waving off Percy's objections, "Granted, most people aren't balancing the fate of the world in their hands when they make those mistakes, but I don't yet believe it was truly catastrophic. We will do what we can to make the best of the situation. Whatever happens, we must not give up hope."

Chiron's face didn't look so sad for a moment. His voice carried an unmistakable note of hope.

"You've got a plan," said Percy.

"No, I haven't"

Percy frowned. "Yes you have. You must do. You wouldn't be like this if there was no hope."

"Percy, having hope is not the same as having a plan."

"But - "

"Nevertheless," continued the centaur, "I do have an idea. I don't know how helpful it will be. It's certainly not a plan yet. I need to do some research, some reading. I'll tell you if I come across anything. In the meantime though, you should rest."

"How am I supposed to rest with..." he waved his hands vaguely, though it was obvious what he was referring to, "this?"

"Because we don't have a choice, Percy." That was Annabeth. She was right, as always. They didn't have a choice. There was nothing else to do in camp, and nothing else that could be done outside it.

"Do not lose hope," said Chiron. "Only when you lose hope have the titans really won." With that, he spun his chair around from the table, and wheeled it back into the Big House.

Argus stood, nodded at Percy again, and walked up to half-blood hill.

"He's probably gone to check the defences," said Grover, as Percy looked questioningly after the hundred-eyed sentry.

"We still have defences?"

The satyr nodded. "All the traps the Hephaestus cabin set up before the battle are still active, as far as we know. Obviously the woods are still stocked with all kinds of wild monsters that could hurt anyone trying to get in stealthily that way. And Peleus is still guarding the Golden Fleece. He seems to have grown attached to the camp, as well."

"It's sweet really," said Annabeth. "He's a bit like a puppy."

"A puppy capable of vast, widespread, indiscriminate mass destruction, though." said Percy.

"You've obviously never had a puppy."

* * *

The day crept slowly by. They sat and talked and played games to distract themselves from the fact that they were sitting idly by while the world outside was descending into chaos. It wasn't enough, and Percy could feel himself slowly going insane.

They checked and double-checked the innumerable traps left behind by the Hephaestus cabin, most of which Annabeth could understand after examining. Those she couldn't, they left well alone. They sat and stroked Peleus, scanning the horizon for any sign of activity. No signs revealed themselves.

Chiron remained in his study, nestled amidst faded books and crusting sheets of paper. They saw Argus around occasionally, but he always seemed to be moving, and never stayed for long.

And then it was the end of the day. Percy slept little that night.

The next day, Percy brought up some more questions on his mind. Maybe doing so in the middle of a sparring contest wasn't the best idea, but the thought arose in his head, and, well – when else was he going to ask?

"When I was fighting the mormolykeia..."

"The ones that are basically empousai but not?" asked Annabeth, jumping back from one of his swings.

"Those are the ones," said Percy. "One of them said someone was going to get me. Lamia, I think they mentioned? I swear I recognise the name, but I'm not sure why. Any thoughts?" He blocked a jab of her knife.

"Lamia? I think she's your sister."

"What?" he asked, and, off-guard for a moment at this sudden revelation, was forced backwards by a flurry of strikes, and found himself backed against the edge of the arena.

"I'm pretty certain. Daughter of Poseidon. Slept with Zeus, but Hera found out, and -" she leapt sideways to avoid a particularly powerful swing of Riptide, letting Percy back into the centre of the arena. "- I think she killed Lamia's kids? Or she might have just kidnapped them."

"Tactful as always then." The two of them circled. Percy feinted a jab towards Annabeth's left, but she wouldn't be drawn, and managed to guard her right as well.

"Right," she said. "Anyway, Lamia went mad, and started eating children, and now she's sort of this vampire-thing that seduces and kills unlucky guys." She narrowed her eyes. "If Lamia's coming after you – well, just be careful, alright?"

He launched spray of attacks at her, going up, now down, now left, now right. She managed to deflect a couple, but was forced into evasion tactics by his sheer power and reach compared to her knife. Percy carefully started pushing her towards the arena wall. "What," he asked, "Kronos wasn't hard enough for me?"

"True."

"There was another name, er, Lilo I think?"

"Lilo?"

"Maybe." He Pushed forwards another step. _Almost there._

"Well Percy, that's over there!"

Such was the urgency in her voice that he span around immediately. There was nothing there, and he realised her trick just as the knife came to rest against his throat. "Cheater."

"You didn't have to look."

"You don't really know _what_ Lilo is, do you?"

"Percy, Lilo's a cartoon Disney character. I'd guess that's not the name, unless Kronos has somehow managed to bring kid's cartoons to life and then turn them evil. I'll check the books anyway, but I doubt we'll find anything." She took the knife away, and they left the arena.

"Good fight. I guess."

"If it's any consolation, I was struggling to fight off some of your advances then."

"You know you could never resist my advances if I really tried."

"I managed to resist your Finding Nemo boxers yesterday."

"That's a low blow. Just like the way you cheated today."

"You win some..." she started, but trailed off as a figure stumbled over half-blood hill, running at full speed.

Percy and Annabeth sprinted towards them, hoping that nothing was following after the demigod, who collapsed on the ground just inside the camp borders. Over by Thalia's tree, Peleus lazily raised his head, stretched his neck, and let out a burst of flame at something just out of sight over the crest of the hill.

They reached the fallen demigod. "Go check the hill," said Percy, and knelt by the body as Annabeth carried on running. Then he blinked. "Nico?"

"Percy," the smaller boy groaned. "A pleasure, as always."

"Right. What happened to you?"

"What didn't happen to me? We were fighting Kronos' army – and winning, too – when all of a sudden the Empire State Building blows up, and everyone runs. Hades went back to the underworld, Poseidon to the sea. The monsters started rallying, the party ponies scattered, and there were just the demigods left. We fought off some of the monsters, but… it was a lost cause. So we ran as well."

He bowed his head as though ashamed, and though Percy wanted to tell him that there was nothing to be ashamed of, he knew the comment wouldn't be appreciated.

"Are Will and the others here?" Nico asked.

That took Percy by surprise. "No." And then, panicking slightly, "Should they be?"

"Maybe. I don't know. Most of us set off together, but when we ran into some monsters, we split up. Hopefully they'll be here soon. If not..." he shook his head.

"What were the monsters?" asked Annabeth, getting back.

"Hellhounds, mostly. Are they..." Nico gestured at the hill.

"All dust," she confirmed. "Peleus really did a number on them. Good to see you back."

Nico's eyes flicked up to hers for a moment, like he was checking if she was joking. "You too."

"I'm sure the others will get here soon. They're well-trained. They're brave."

"Yeah," he said. "I guess they are."

He didn't sound convinced.

* * *

They put Nico to bed in the Big House and explained to Chiron what had happened, as well as asking Argus to be on the lookout for other half-bloods. The hundred-eyed watchman just grunted and nodded, while Chiron frowned and looked concerned, before reburying himself in his books with, if possible, redoubled efforts.

Annabeth began plotting new security measures for the borders, while Grover went to rally any nature spirits in the woods. Percy was left to his own devices, and chose to spend his time walking along the beach.

He walked barefoot, the sand soft between his toes and the ocean lapping at his feet as he trod the line the tide ran up to. He could almost imagine there wasn't a war on.

"Perseus."

The brief illusion of calm and serenity did not so much shatter as simply dissolve; less an explosive interruption than a cold sensation akin to stepping out of your warm house and into a blizzard. Percy turned to the source of the voice: Poseidon. His father had only called him Perseus at their first meeting, all those years ago when his biggest worries were little things like accidentally starting World War Three for a theft he didn't commit.

"Dad," he said.

His father looked old and worn, as he had when Percy had seen him in Atlantis. Now, though, he seemed to be leaning on his trident for support. The armour was gone, replaced with one of his old, tasteless Hawaiian shirts. Worryingly though, this one was sliced open at the right shoulder, and there seemed to be claw marks over the belly.

Then Percy realised that Poseidon would not be happy. His home had been destroyed, his power ended, his family torn apart. It did not make sense, therefore, that the god was smiling gently at him.

"Are you okay?" Percy asked.

Poseidon sighed, and the smile vanished, though he still didn't seem angry with Percy. "As well as can be expected," he said. "Olympus has fallen, and my kingdom is still under attack from Oceanus' forces. The war is taking its toll. That said, we are holding them, for now. They will not defeat us in the immediate future."

"Right. But – haven't we – I mean -"

"You want to know if, having lost Olympus, we have certainly lost the war?"

Percy nodded, mutely, wondering if he was so easily readable.

Poseidon shook his head. "Yes, that is so, but, on the other hand, no."

"That doesn't make any sense." Okay, maybe that was a bit blunt, considering he was talking to a god, but come on – 'yes but no?'

Poseidon, though, did not seem overly concerned. "I suppose not. With Olympus gone, the gods can no longer help you. You saw our armies gone once the Empire State Building collapsed?"

"Yeah, I saw. What happened?"

"We left to defend our realms. With Olympus gone, we are cut off from our greatest source of power, but once it had already gone, there was no point in continuing to fight there. We would lose lives needlessly. The titans had won that battle, and we could not reverse the result at that point. If we'd continued to fight, we'd have achieved nothing, and left our own realms vulnerable as we did so. So I returned to Atlantis to repel Oceanus, and Hades went back to the Underworld in order to fortify it against any future attacks."

"But if Olympus was your greatest source of power, how can you fight them off?"

"Because it was not our _only_ source of power. We have our weapons – my trident, Hades' helm and such. We have our realms, which can support us for as long as they thrive. And we have faith. Your sacrifices and worship are needed more than ever now." The titans will certainly be stronger than us, if it comes to a straight fight."

Percy shook his head in confusion, unconsciously mirroring his father's earlier movement. "But you say we haven't _totally_ lost?"

"We defeated Typhon, did we not?"

"Yeah. Thank you, by the way, but that's not enough, is it? What did you do with him, anyway?"

"We sent him directly to Tartarus. He will reform, but not for many years, and by then we should have conclusively won or lost the war. You're right that this alone is not enough, but he was our most powerful enemy, and his loss is a great blow to Kronos. Until the Titan Lord can assume his true form, there is no enemy who can strike a truly decisive blow against us. That is why we have not necessarily lost."

"He hasn't already?"

"Not as far as I am aware. I would have felt it. Why?"

"When we were fighting… he started to glow. Like he was about to burn Luke's body away."

"Interesting. Did it stop at any point?"

"No. I mean, maybe. I couldn't see a glow after the battle, but I thought he might have landed somewhere else, or moved or something."

"Percy, you must understand that this is ancient and complex magic. As far as I am aware, nothing like this has ever been done before. I don't pretend to understand it properly, but I am confident that Kronos has not yet assumed his true form. That kind of power would be impossible to hide. And until he does, we can certainly still stop him."

"Can we?"

"Your mother - "

"Dad."

Poseidon blinked. Gods aren't used to being interrupted. He still didn't seem angry though, and Percy couldn't understand why.

"Percy, I realise I haven't always been the best father, but I have kept an eye on you, when I've been able. And one of the most striking things about you is your ability to render the impossible possible."

"I lost, though."

"Just remember Decimus Laberius' wise words."

"Who?"

"Decimus Laberius."

"Who?"

"He was a mime some two thousand years ago. He said 'non possunt primi esse omnes, omni in tempore.'"

"I'm a bit behind on my Greek.

"It's Latin."

"I'm further behind than I thought then."

"It means that you can't win every time. 'It is not possible to occupy the first rank forever.' You've already done better than we had any right to expect of you. And, remember, even Kronos cannot win every battle."

"So we keep trying. But so much for my streak of achieving the impossible."

"We keep trying until we can try no more or we need try no more. Have faith, Perseus. Kronos won this battle because he was able to see what we gods could not. All we need do now is come up with a few original ideas of our own, and what seems impossible now will be within our reach."

Percy nodded. Poseidon frowned. "And be careful," he said, slowly. "Kronos still has the upper hand. For as long as he does, our position is a precarious one. Allies that we once trusted easily may no longer be reliable. Fear does strange things to people. You may have seen that already."

The god of the sea, old and tired but nevertheless unbowed, unbent and unbroken, dissolved into a fine mist of sea air. Percy was left alone on the beach. His thoughts were troubled and muddled, and he still wasn't certain what he was going to do, but – well, maybe things weren't quite so impossible as they seemed.

* * *

Nico was up and about again the next day. In truth, he was probably already in a better way than Percy or Annabeth were, having had no serious wounds and the benefit of travelling in a group on his way back to camp.

Chiron sent the son of Hades to do part of the daily trap check/monster sweep in the woods, and, that being quite enough of a challenge in itself, no-one expected him to do anything else. It was therefore something of a shock when he ran up to Percy, feeding Peleus on the hill, shouting "Get to the woods!"

"What?" asked Percy. Nico was carrying an unconscious girl – a daughter of Apollo, Percy recalled, though her name escaped him – on his back, and though she was even smaller than he was, he was still clearly struggling. There was blood all over both of them.

"The woods – monsters attacking. People trying to get in. Go. Quickly!"

Percy needed nothing more than that garbled sentence before he sprang to his feet, pulled out his pen and set off at a run, leaving the dragon to eat his meaty slop in peace. The demigod was no sooner inside the treeline, however, than he tripped over a rock and went sprawling. He hit the dirt and skidded along for a foot or so, twisting to look behind him as he did so, in case there was something dangerous there.

Looking more closely, he saw that he had not tripped over a rock, but a small stone rabbit, perfectly carved and finely detailed. It looked worryingly like Medusa's work, and for a moment Percy considered the possibility that she had returned from Tartarus. Medusa, though, was not the type of monster you might expect to be hanging around in the Camp Half-Blood woods. This is why Percy was not wholly surprised to see, when the monster emerged from the trees, that it was not Medusa.

It was a large animal, its main body that of a buffalo. Being Greek though, there were… complications. Its head was not that of a buffalo, but that of a large, angry, and very hairy pig. The head seemed a little outsized for the rest of it, and it moped along the ground, nose scraping in the dirt and grass. Its back was scaled and looked tough. As it wandered towards him, so absently, and without looking at him, so as to seem not to have noticed him yet, the grass it breathed on curled, yellowed, and died. He made a mental note to stay clear.

There was a rustling in the undergrowth, and the monster's head swung slowly to Percy's right as a squirrel burst out. It froze as it noticed the half-blood and the beast in front of it. It didn't move again, and after a second, Percy realised that it, like the rabbit, was now stone.

He looked at the cow-pig-thing. This was, all things considered, remarkably reckless of him, seeing as he had just seen that seeing this and being seen by it would see you stoned, but he did it without thinking. Fortunately, its eyes were still fixed on the squirrel. The eyes were bloodshot, and though small, seemed to bulge out of their sockets.

As its head swung back towards him, he was jolted into action, turning away and scrambling to his feet.

He uncapped Riptide and swept backwards with it. It hit something, but bounced off it upwards. A strange angle. He thought about that for a moment, and moved a little away from where the animal was.

Then he climbed a tree. It was short, but not very challenging to climb, and fortunately a little taller than the monster. From his vantage point, Percy looked down at the beast, which head-butted the tree. The tree shook. The animal, though, was staring at its roots, its bulbous head still hanging down.

Percy laughed. The animal, deadly though it could be, was slow, stupid, and had a head so heavy it couldn't even look up. It didn't seem to appreciate being laughed at though, and rammed into the tree again. The tree shook.

The son of Poseidon leapt down onto the thing's back, causing it to make a feeble attempt to buck him off. Its movements were sluggish, and he held on with ease. The rest was easy. Percy couldn't stab through its hard scales, so he leant forwards, reached around its neck, and cut its throat. The monster stumbled, fell, and dissolved into dust, leaving behind only a chunk of its scaly armour.

Never one to turn down a free gift, Percy picked it up. It was rough and uneven, having no particular shape or substance to clearly show what he could use it for. It was far too unwieldy to have any obvious practical purpose. It was, in short, one of the most pointless spoils of war Percy had ever seen. He dropped it and set off into the woods again.

He didn't have to go much further before he heard shouts, and sprinted towards them. There. Just through the trees he made out flashes of light. Something went bang. He hoped it was nothing important.

He caught a glimpse of blonde hair for a moment, and when he got closer, he saw it was Kayla, the daughter of Apollo. Her bow was out, and she was firing arrows at a group of hellhounds which had got in amongst the ragtag group of demigods here. One was creeping around and preparing to claw her in the back.

Percy put on a final burst of speed to get there in time. He and the hound leapt at the same time. He saw, as though in slow motion, the hellhound's claws extending towards the girl's back, teeth bared and saliva dripping from its jaws. His shoulder collided with it. It, though seemed to have jumped more powerfully, and the pair of them went flying into Kayla's back, leaving all three collapsed on the floor. She was safe though, and he was able to thrust his sword into its chest before it attacked again. The hellhound writhed briefly, and dissolved into dust.

Kayla lay, stunned, on the ground, but Percy leapt up and continued fighting. Another dog threw itself towards him but he sidestepped and sliced it apart, before tackling another which had been moving towards someone he now recognized as Will Solace.

In moments, the battle was done, and Percy was surrounded by monster dust and unwashed and somewhat slightly dazed demigods. He saw now that they were all from the Apollo cabin; 6 half-bloods in all.

"Thanks," said Will. Percy jerked around, seeing the son of Apollo standing there, bloody and dirty. "They caught us just as we got to the edge of the woods. I don't know if we'd have made it to camp without you."

"No worries." Percy narrowed his eyes. Someone was missing. "Is this all of you?"

"All of us?"

"It's the whole Apollo cabin except Austin. Is he…?"

Will shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't kill him," said Will, shortly.

Percy didn't feel like disputing that point.

"Did Harmony make it here?" asked Kayla.

"Harmony?"

"Our sister. Small, typical Apollo traits, er - "

"Nico got her. He was taking her to the Big House I think."

"Nico's here?"

Percy turned back to Will. "Yeah. Got here yesterday."

The blond boy relaxed a little. "That's good. I was worried he hadn't made it."

"He was worried about you, too."

"Well..." Will seemed at a loss for words. "We've been looking out for each other recently."

"Come on." Percy gestured towards the camp. "He'll be glad to see you again. Everyone will be."

It was late afternoon by the time they got back, leaving Percy wondering where the time had gone, and also when he was going to be able to fill the black hole in his belly. Nico, Annabeth and Chiron were all overjoyed to see the Apollo cabin back, but there was more serious business to attend to. Harmony was in the infirmary, still unconscious, and Will demanded to see her.

"Get some rest first," said Percy.

"I need to see her, Percy."

"You can't do anything in this state. You need sleep."

"What I need is to check she's okay. Let me in."

"Look, it's probably not that bad, right Nico?"

Nico shuffled his feet awkwardly. "I gave her some nectar, but… I don't know."

"You don't know?"

That was enough. They went in.

Harmony had been laid on the bed nearest the door, and Will immediately started busying himself checking her various wounds. There were cuts all over her torso, and fresh blood stained the bedsheets.

"How much nectar did you give her?" he asked Nico.

"The recommended dosage. I didn't want to risk much more than that."

"We'll risk it. Grab some, will you?"

Nico went.

Will started bandaging the wounds, but halfway through his work, his eyes inadvertently met Percy's. He paused.

"Is she going to be alright?"

Will sighed. "I hope so."

When Nico returned with the nectar, Will trickled a steady stream of it between Harmony's lips, until her skin gained a red kind of glow.

"That's enough," he said. "Too much, really, but..." He shook his head. "Where'd you find her?" he asked Nico.

"The woods. She said she'd been split off from you, and there were hellhounds, then fainted. I got her back here as fast as I could."

"Thank you."

Nico stayed silent for a moment. "She saved your lives," he said. "She ran for help, I think."

"Maybe," said Will, then resumed working silently.

They stayed by her bedside well into the night, Will taking turns with the other children of Apollo to work on Harmony's wounds, and while some seemed to get better, there were gashes in her side and chest which refused to close. At about four in the morning, she stopped breathing.

* * *

More demigods arrived the next day, in ones, twos and threes, mostly. They appeared over the crest of the hill, often pursued by monsters and rarely unharmed. By the evening they had about 20 campers again, including Percy, Annabeth and Nico. Percy hoped that more had survived the Battle of Manhattan. Most were more or less back to normal after some nectar and ambrosia, Chris being the only one too injured to leave the infirmary. Clarisse had dragged him miles to camp after he'd been stabbed by a dracaenae.

When they ate that evening, it wasn't silent, as it had been the first couple of nights, nor was the dialogue stilted as it had been the day before. It wasn't loud, but there was a low buzz of conversation, which almost let Percy believe things were back to normal, if it weren't for the low numbers of half-bloods present and the abandonment of the cabin seating system. It was an illusion which was shattered as soon as Chiron stood to make an announcement.

"Demigods," he said. "I realise that the last few days have been discouraging. You may feel tired, lost, or dispirited. I am afraid that these are no longer viable options. You may be thinking that we have lost this war."

He looked Percy dead in the eyes. "You would be wrong.

"We may be on the back foot, they may have the advantage, but the titans have only won if we give up now. We cannot afford to do so. We must keep fighting. To that end, I have the beginnings of a plan."

There was an intake of breath from the assembled demigods.

"It is by no means complete or comprehensive, but I believe it represents one of the best chances we have. The titans, just like the gods, thrive on belief and worship. Few believe in the titans, and fewer worship them. They will realise that they will become much stronger if they reveal the Greek world to the mortals and encourage their own worship. This is, of course, a significant problem, but it also gives us an opportunity to resist. I am therefore proposing a series of quests. Everyone who wishes to can take part, and all will be welcome. It will be dangerous, I am sure you understand.

"Here is what we will do: we will wait in camp, recovering, until our world is revealed. It will be unmissable, as the titans won't want to lose any potential worshippers. Then, in threes, you will go out into the world, and spread the word of the gods. Give a message of hope. Tell the mortals of the titans' crimes and brutality, but tell them also that the gods are real. Tell them that a better world is possible. Make them believe not in Othrys, but in Olympus. Under titan rule, humankind will only matter as entertainment, but the gods will leave them be. Under the gods, they will be free. This is our best hope."

He sat again, leaving silence. Then Peleus roared.

Percy jolted to his feet, pulling out Riptide. "Keep everyone calm," he said to Annabeth, then ran for the hill.

Reaching the low peak, he saw an army. Hundreds of monsters of all kinds stood facing Thalia's tree. _They can't pass the barrier_ , he told himself. Hopefully. Maybe with the gods gone…

Peleus let out a blast of flame that left a few monsters trying to creep up on him burned to a crisp.

"Good boy," said Percy, then ran back to the pavilion.

"We have a problem," he said. "Everyone get your weapons, put your armour on. There are monsters here. I don't know if they can get through the barrier, but Peleus is holding them off for now. We don't have long though."

"They shouldn't be able to get through the barrier," said Chiron. "It's still in place. We should be careful though. Everyone in a fit state to fight go to Half-Blood Hill as soon as you're ready."

Before anyone could move, though, the monsters came pouring over the hill – with a noticeable gap around the tree, and therefore, around Peleus.

"Everyone run!" Percy yelled. The demigods scattered, most heading for the woods. Camp Half-Blood was no longer safe. Then Percy looked at Annabeth. "Chris," he said.

They dashed into the infirmary, where Chris was lying in one of the far beds. He was a large, muscular demigod, and even together they struggled somewhat to lift him – until Clarisse burst in, and picked him up herself.

"I feel emasculated," said Percy.

"Shut up Jackson."

They turn to the exit, only to see Argus standing there, sword in hand. His intention was clear.

"Argus?" asked Annabeth. "You let them across the barrier?"

"Kronos has won," he said. Even at this point, Percy was a little disappointed to see that his tongue did not, in fact, have an eye on it. "You die for the gods," continued Argus, "Or you live for Kronos. Not much of a choice really."

Suddenly he spun around, but too late. An arrow sprouted from his neck, and then another from his chest. He collapsed, and dissolved, as Chiron trotted into view.

"Come," said the centaur. "We are out of time."

The fighting outside was fearsome, with only a few demigods still remaining in the camp.

"Every exit is cut off," called Chiron. "Use Peleus. I will buy you time."

"Chris can't hold on!" shouted Clarisse.

"Give him here," said Chiron. "I'll see him to safety."

They manoeuvred Chris onto Chiron's back. "Run!" shouted the centaur.

Percy sprinted for the hill, cutting down any monsters in their way, as Chiron's arrows took down those behind. They reached Peleus in moments, and climbed onto him. The dragon shifted uncomfortably, easily large enough to bear them all, but not seeming to know what was happening.

"Go!" shouted Percy. "GO!"

The dragon roared and incinerated another group of foes.

"Percy, the Fleece!"

Percy looked at the tree, where the Golden Fleece was hanging… the Golden Fleece which Peleus had been hired to protect.

He sighed.

Percy leapt off the dragon's back and onto that of a Laistrygonian giant. He sliced its head off and jumped for the low branch where the Fleece hung. He caught it – and hung there as it snagged a branch.

He kicked out at a dracaenae slithering towards him, and shook at the Fleece to try and dislodge it.

The Fleece stayed stuck.

He swung Riptide into the jaw of an approaching hellhound, and shook at the Fleece to try and dislodge it.

The Fleece stayed stuck.

Then he let go, dropping down and causing a tremor that knocked nearby enemies flat. He used the sword to flip the Fleece over the branch, picked it up, and clambered back on Peleus' back, next to Annabeth and the others who had made it here.

"GO!"

And Peleus did.

He let out one final burst of fire, roasting over a dozen monsters at once, and soared into the air, leaving Kronos' forces stranded on the ground below.

Percy looked back, seeing Chiron galloping away into the woods with Chris on his back, monsters chasing them. He turned to face forwards again.

The wind ran its cold fingers through his hair.

His home burned behind him.

An uncertain future lay ahead.

 **And that's a wrap! Sorry for the wait folks, this was a difficult one to bash out, especially the scene where Percy rescues the Apollo cabin. I spent about three weeks on that bit alone.**

 **Thanks to _A Samhildanach_ for reviewing, and in response to _AnnaUnicorn_ \- well... in a bit, yes.**

 **If any of you have the time to review, that really would be wonderful.**

 **See you all next time!**


	5. In Principle

**Prized Possession**

 **5: In Principle**

 _"Sometimes even to live is an act of courage." - Seneca_

 _"Count a couple of stray hopes out loud. May their numbers one day be increased." - John Darnielle (Yes, him again)_

Percy wakes slowly, easily stretched over a soft bed where the fluffy sheets make him feel like he's floating. His eyes slip open and adjust quickly to the gentle light cast across the walls, giving even the oppressive black colour scheme a kind of serenity.

As seems to happen every time he wakes up these days, the rush of memories from recent days does much to dampen his spirits. Nevertheless, he's a little disconcerted to find that he is so comfy, so well-rested, that it barely seems to matter. He struggles to care, but the bed feels _so_ good, and the pillows are _so_ plump…

He wakes again in a while when Perses comes and bangs on the door.

"Wake," says the titan, and Perses' voice is so overwhelming that for a moment, Percy can focus on nothing else. Though not as deep as Atlas', it reverberates with power, putting the demigod immediately on edge. It takes a moment to readjust, before, stepping inside the room, Perses continues. "Breakfast ends soon. Get ready."

Percy showers while the titan waits outside. He takes the opportunity to study the cuffs on his wrists: two bejewelled vambrace-style pieces of some kind of metal – he suspects that to drain his energy as it does, it may be some form of Stygian Iron, for which it is both cold enough and black enough – and, most intriguingly, some ancient Greek lettering spiralling across them. He feels foolish for not having looked closely earlier, to form some kind of escape attempt, but the letters refuse to come into focus, to arrange themselves into any kind of sense. He worries that the cuffs are restricting his ability to translate Greek. Relievingly, a few blinks later, his brain finally grasps the message: _blood is thicker than water_.

It's a disappointingly cryptic statement, which offers no practical advice for the situation at hand. Percy has no time to dwell on it, though, as a terse "Faster," comes from the titan on the other side of the door. He dries himself hastily with the unfamiliar towel, dresses in the fresh black clothes provided, and sets off for the banqueting hall. He's relieved that the clothes are without obvious slogans this time, with only a number of small golden scythe designs on his shirt.

Perses is something of a one-note companion – both in the sense that his responses to Percy's small talk are both monotone and monosyllabic (Question: "So what do you do for fun around here, my lord?" Answer: "Silence.") and in that he does little but glower and stalk along the halls. Percy is unable to bring out the fun-loving prankster he just _knows_ is deep down there somewhere, nor the hopeless romantic. The moody, Twilght-y teen-heartthrob look is all the titan is focused on doing, and it's a touch dull.

Still, Percy could have worse companions. Though boring, Perses doesn't complain about Percy talking too much, even when the demigod starts dropping the 'my lords' from his speech. There are no angry threats, as though the titan considers him not even worth the time it would take to crush him. It's as though Perses finds him boring, and, though he's not so proud (or stupid) as to complain aloud, Percy is actually a little offended. Fortunately, the journey through the winding black hallways seems to go a little faster this time – is Perses' stride brisker or longer than Atlas'? - and they arrive before the food is all gone; though not, unfortunately, before Kronos was.

Menoetius looks up from where he crouches by Kronos' side. He scowls, and storms out.

The titan king, though, just smiles. "Perseus, Percy," he says. "Come, join me."

The two of them head to the head of the table, where Kronos appears to be digging into a bowl of cereal. It's not what Percy would have expected the most feared being in America to be eating, and it makes for an odd sight, especially when he notices just what cereal the box is: Trix. It's not a box he recognises, but maybe they've changed the design in the time since he last saw one.

Kronos sees him looking. "Trix?" asks the titan king, pushing them, a bowl and a jug of milk towards the son of Poseidon.

"No thanks - "

"They're the original Nineteen-Fifty-Five version. Forty-six _percent_ sugar," he says, as though that should be some form of major encouragement.

"No thanks," says Percy. "My lord."

"Your loss."

"What can I get for you today, sirs?" asks a waitress, coming up to the table.

"Nothing," says Perses.

Percy's mind goes blank, and he opts for the first thing he can think of. "Pancakes. Please."

Kronos raises an eyebrow. "You had pancakes yesterday morning, Perseus."

"Er, yeah. I like pancakes, I guess. My lord."

"Have you ever had a full English breakfast, Perseus?"

"Um. No."

Kronos' eyebrow goes up another half-inch. "My lord," finishes Percy.

"I'd recommend you try one. They really are quite delicious."

"Right. Thanks." And, turning to the waitress: "I'll have one of those then, please. If that's alright."

"Of course, my lord," she says, and heads off to where Percy assumes the kitchens are.

"Excellent," says Kronos. "I've been trying to get Percy to eat one ever since the things were invented, but, alas..." He shrugs, as if unable to fathom why one would resist a super-powerful titan trying to force them to try sausages, bacon and fried egg for breakfast. To be honest, Percy isn't sure that's a battle worth fighting either, though if Kronos calls Perses 'Percy' one more time, it might become one.

The food arrives impossibly quickly again, and Percy sets to it with his knife and fork, just as Kronos is finishing his bowl of cereal. The golden-eyed titan swallows the dregs of milk from his bowl, sighs in satisfaction, and talks as Percy eats.

"I thought I'd give you a tour of the grounds today," he says. "Get you acquainted with the people around, and such. It would be a bore to have to keep introducing you to new people all the time, so I thought I'd get the bulk of it over with today. Besides, its always good for the subjects and slaves to see who their new master is – and for you to know that you're no kind of master at all."

 _So that's it_. This tour is just another move calculated to smear Percy's reputation. It might be a long day. Still, he thinks, wolfing down another mouthful, at least it would be a day that began with bacon.

The doors to the hall swing open, and two titans come in. Percy immediately recognises one, gently glowing, as Hyperion, and after another moment, recalls the other's name as Eos. Hyperion strides up to the table, and plants himself in his seat. Eos seems to glide to her place. Yesterday, Percy chose to skip lunch and ate dinner out on the arena balcony with Kronos, but he notices that the five of them in the room are all in the same chairs as the day before.

"My lord," says Hyperion, and, coldly to Percy, "Jackson," before asking Perses "Was he any trouble?"

Perses glances briefly at Percy. "None," he says.

Eos also greets Kronos and Perses, but when she turns to Percy, it's with a more mellow, less accusatory eye. "Perseus," she says.

"My lady. My lord," he responds.

Eos smiles as though genuinely pleased. Hyperion grunts. Perses is silent. Kronos just clears his throat and starts speaking again.

"I believe that two of your friends should be arriving today," he says. "I'm sure they were awfully grateful to you for saving their miserable little lives back in New York."

Percy's throat clams up, his mouth dry.

Kronos frowns. "Weren't they? My, after all that effort you went to – how cruel, how unfair! Maybe you ought to be careful about your choice of friends in the future..."

They eat in silence for some time, Percy silently stabbing at his food, which is cooked to perfection and one of the best things he's ever tasted. He detests every mouthful.

"So, Perseus," says Eos. "My family tell me that you've been _quite_ the troublemaker recently. How _do_ you do it?"

"Uh..." Percy, mouth full, looks at Kronos for guidance, but the titan king is paying no attention, being far too preoccupied pouring himself another bowl of Trix. Percy swallows, and, assuming a bad answer was better than none, said "I guess I've got a talent."

Eos breaks into peals of laughter, an irritating, high-pitched sound. Percy likes hearing it though: it means he's probably not about to get obliterated from the face of the earth.

"A talent!" the titaness screams. "A talent! Oh, boy oh boy. You make me laugh, Perseus. I suppose it is a talent of sorts, in fact!"

Percy, uncertain that the joke was really that funny, or even a joke, goes down the path of non-committal agreement. "Mm-hm," he says, and it seems to satisfy Eos, who leans back in her chair and giggles to herself of "talent."

Then Hyperion speaks up. "I've an idea. Why don't we give Jackson his sword back and we can duel."

Kronos chuckles gently. Then he stops abruptly. "You're not… serious, are you?"

Hyperion nods.

Kronos sighs. "Idiot. We're not giving Jackson a sword. He's not trustworthy, and, as we've just heard, he has a talent for making trouble."

"It'll be entertaining. The people will be happy to see one of their leaders beat up the leader of the resistance."

Kronos' smile disappears completely. "No."

"But - "

"Do not test me, Hyperion. The half-blood does not get a weapon, because a weapon is a chance for him to fight us again. He does not get a chance to fight us again, even in an arena fight, because he might win. And if he wins, then the army is discouraged, and he may even escape. The. Fight. Does. Not. Happen."

Hyperion nods, and Percy can see his neck cords tense and bulging. "My lord." Then he leaves, stalking out.

Eos giggles again. "It appears Perseus' talent remains undiminished," she exclaims, gleefully.

Perses just snorts, and Kronos' only response is to stand and stretch. "Well, Perseus. It appears to be time for your tour."

"No," protests Eos, "surely Perseus can stay here a while longer. I'm fascinated by his exploits – surely you wouldn't stop me hearing about them, would you Kronos? Besides, he's still eating."

Percy, anticipating the tour of Othrys with what must be named as an acute sense of dread, made a point of stuffing his mouth full of bacon to back the titaness up.

"Very well," said Kronos, though he seems unimpressed by this reasoning. "You may stay a little longer. Find me once you're done interrogating the boy." And with that, he leaves Perses, Percy and Eos alone in the room.

Eos leans forward conspiratorially, twining her fingers together and resting her elbows on her table. "So," she says. "Tell me all about it."

Percy shrugs uncomfortably. "There's not really a lot to tell, I guess. We fought Kronos. We lost. We carried on fighting anyway. We lost again."

She raises her eyebrows. "I'm sure there's a lot more to it than that, Perseus. Kronos doesn't hate anyone _quite_ as much as he hates you just because they lost to him twice."

"I like to think it was a close thing."

Eos giggles again. "Oh, no – nononono. It wasn't a close thing, Perseus. I very much doubt you were ever in any danger of winning. But still, you have somehow given him the sulk of a century – and I want to know how!" She rests a conspiratorial hand on his biceps, and speaks playfully. "Come on, tell me."

"I don't know – maybe he's just sore I wouldn't join him."

"Oh, Perseus. We don't have time now, but I intend to get the information out of you, sooner or later. You enjoy your tour." Then she leans in, unnervingly close to him, and whispers: "I'll be back." Then the titaness of dawn leaves, and the room without her seems a little duller – if less creepy.

"Kronos," says Perses, and Percy stuffs as much food from his plate into his mouth as he can, before setting off to find the titan king.

* * *

When they arrive in the throne room, Kronos dismisses Perses, and sits, contemplating Percy, for over a minute. The silence feels, as any silence in the presence of the titan lord of time is prone to, pregnant with the potential for explosive violence, its unpredictability almost tangible.

Then Kronos speaks. "Look at this room, Perseus."

Percy's eyes flit over the scenery, the carved columns, ornate thrones, and polished floor.

"No. Look," Kronos commands. "Look all around. Tell me what you see."

Percy does so. He begins with the thrones. "There are twelve thrones. I guess for a titan council. They're all black, but it looks like they might have pictures to do with that titan's domain. The one furthest to my left looks like it might be Krios' - "

"Enough on the thrones. The rest of the room now."

Percy looks. "The floor - "

"Forget the floor. You can move. Look closely."

Percy swallows. "The columns are, uh.." he strains to remember what Annabeth tried to drill into him, "Corinthian?"

"Are you asking?"

"No. They're Corinthian. My lord." He looks the richly engraved capital, and is certain. "It looks like they've got designs on them – I can't quite make them out..."

"Be patient."

Percy's eyes strain at the figures atop the columns. "There's a figure up there. He's got a spear – I think it might be Iapetus."

"Look at the others."

Percy moves on. "This one… this is Koios? He has a book, and looks like it might be thinking. This one could be Oceanus. Looks like he's holding a snake – but it might just be a whip or something." He pulls up short. "This is you. My lord."

"Is it?"

"Yeah. You're holding the scythe - "

"No."

"What?"

"Not a scythe." The titan holds out his hand, and something glows, gradually taking form. It looks sort of like a scythe, but smaller, one-handed and short, hooked blade. "A sickle. Look up."

Percy looks up, and his breath catches in his throat. Across the ceiling is a painting to rival the Sistine Chapel. It shows Ouranus, the sky, draped over the earth, a limb reaching out to four of the columns in the room. At each one of these, a titan – Krios, Koios, Iapetus and Hyperion – holds him down, while Oceanus grasps his head, and though the picture is so vivid that Percy imagines he can see the primordial struggling, he can never break free. From the sixth and final column in the room, the one beneath which Percy now stands, Kronos reaches out with his sickle, preparing to castrate his father. The weapon glints as realistically as the one which now vanishes from the titan's hand.

"Strictly speaking," says the titan in question, "Oceanus shouldn't be there. He wouldn't help out when we chopped father up. But he agreed to help with my troublesome children this time, so we decided it was time the picture was updated. Take a look at the walls, now."

Percy walks around the room, and sees an array of mosaics and carvings come to life, a vast frieze of titan mythology coming to life before his eyes. "It's beautiful," he says before he can stop himself.

"I'm glad you think so. But do you understand it?"

"How do you mean, my lord?"

"Why is this important, Jackson?"

"I don't know, my lord."

"Exactly. You mortals cannot understand us. This is the distillation of millenia, a monument to all that the West ever has been or will be. You're arrogant enough to assume that you control the flow of time, that it is your decisions, your lives, that make history. Not so."

The mad glint is back in the king's eyes, but Percy can't tear his gaze away from the golden orbs. He is pinned, as Ouranus was before him.

"The world is mine, Jackson. Every success, every failure, every idea and invention, every birth and every death, all passing within the passage of time. _I. Am. The. West._ "

With the gleaming eyes boring into his soul, Percy can't help but ask: "Why are you telling me this, my lord?"

Sighing, Kronos rests a palm on each of Percy's cheeks. It's an unnerving, patronising gesture, and the demigod recoils reflexively, but is kept in place by the titan's grip. The hands are cold, but unexpectedly sweaty, as though Kronos is nervous. "Perseus," he says. "You'd lost this war before you even started fighting it. You can see that, can't you?"

Percy, head gripped and powers unavailable, has little choice but to agree. "I suppose," he says, through gritted teeth.

Kronos cares less about the grinding of molars than he does the words uttered, though, and he smiles condescendingly. His teeth look like a dead man's. "That's right. So, you now have a choice. You can make the rest of your life difficult, or easy. You - and your friends - can spend your days in chains or in comfort, and which it is lies entirely with you. You'll do your best to help us, won't you?"

The hands on Percy's cheeks feel disturbingly like they're preparing to snap his neck, and he doesn't much want to find out if the Achilles curse would prevent that. "Alright," he says.

Kronos pats him on the cheek. "Good. Now, the tour. We'll begin from the top, and go down.

They emerge onto the small plateau at the top of the mountain, where Percy fought Atlas. It's only been two and a half years, but it feels like an age has passed since. In a manner of speaking, it has: the age of the gods has come to an end, and the second age of the titans is here, with Percy caught between the two. He's a relic of the old regime.

Percy's struck with an odd feeling of nostalgia as he steps into the cool morning air. So much happened here. This was the place when he first understood the true magnitude of the titan threat, where Ares' curse struck, where Zoe Nightshade died and where they rescued a goddess. A goddess now chained to the same spot in which she'd stood last time.

Artemis was bent almost double under the weight of the sky, her clothes tattered and torn, and muck smeared on her face and arms. Her silver eyes seemed joyless, as though the moon itself had been dulled and overwhelmed by the night around it.

"Artemis," said Kronos, pleasantly.

"Grandfather," she grunted. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, spitting out the last word to make clear that it was anything but.

"I'm giving Perseus here the tour," he smiled. "He's agreed to help us now, and was eager to see our base of operations."

It's close enough to the truth that Percy doesn't bother to contradict him. Although he avoids meeting Artemis' questioning gaze, he can feel it on his face. "It's… very impressive, my lord." He's just filling the silence, uncertain as to what he's even talking about, and from the satisfied smirk Kronos gives him, he can tell the titan knows.

"Glad you think so, Perseus. It's a view that will last for many millennia more. I hope you'll enjoy them with us. Artemis here is, of course, lucky enough to be guaranteed that much. I'm sure she's grateful for it every day."

They turn away to go, but Artemis spits at Percy. The eyes are still without any real hope, but there's an angry silver fire burning in them now. The glob of saliva lands on his shoe, but has barely landed before Kronos is in front of him, his arm swinging forwards to Artemis -

The sound of the smack seems to echo over the mountaintop. The goddess collapses under the sky, the seething mass of clouds on her back pressing down, crushing her. Percy sees how intangible, unsubstantial they look, but remembers the very real weight that had pushed down on him when he held the sky. He stops himself from looking at her, though he's not sure if it's for her sake or his.

Instead, he focuses on the titan next to them. Kronos' shoulders heave up and down; he's angry. "Never," he says, pointing at Artemis, "never do that again. Of you disrespect Perseus, you disrespect me. And if you disrespect me, I will make you plead for me to give you back the privilege of holding the sky. Do I make myself clear?"

She doesn't reply.

"DO I MAKE MYSELF CLEAR?" he bellows. Spittle flies from his lips.

"Yes," she grunts, in a small voice.

"Good. Get up off the ground. Perseus, come."

Like a dog to heel, Percy follows Kronos back inside.

Just inside, they tour the guard towers, and Kronos shows him the various views down the mountainside. Any attacking force would be seen long before it reached the mountain, and be met with resistance at each of three fortress gates even before reaching the main palace-cum-castle.

The floor below, Kronos shows him around an assortment of lounges, halls, living quarters and temples as well as a large barrack area where the monster legions that guard the titan palace rest. The floor below that is the main living area of Othrys: there are more hall, bedrooms, temples and recreation areas – Percy's particularly taken with the swimming pool, which Kronos promises he can use, with the cuffs on – but there are also dining rooms; kitchens full of bustling servants, where they stop to eat; warehouse sized storerooms stocked with every imaginable convenience; and, of course, the throne room. Kronos gestures carelessly to one small door at the end of a similarly small corridor, and mentions that there's a garden through there. They don't go through it, though.

Then, finally, they are on the bottom floor, the partially underground section of the palace. Here, aside from a few more cellars and pantries, the only important thing is the prison quarters.

Percy is surprised to see that the cell he woke up in two days ago was not an exception: on the whole, the dungeons are much less – well, _dungeon-y_ – than the description suggests. There is no slime dripping from the ceiling, no torches flickering on the walls. Instead, the corridors are bare and dry, lit by expansive windows facing out to the mountainside.

The cells themselves are carved into the side of Mount Tam, so looking out through the bars of the small windows inside can give a stunning view, along with a sense of vertigo for the weak-stomached.

It's when Percy actually looks inside the cells that he's reminded why the titans inspire such fear in their enemies.

"This is where we put the traitors, the rebels, the criminals," says Kronos.

The cells they walk past seem crammed to breaking point with people who look no more capable of undermining the titan regime than Percy is of winning an arm wrestle with Atlas. They're starving masses, thin and gaunt, often stuffed in ten to a cell, each living their life in a space roughly six feet by one. Some have injuries which look like they've been inflicted by monstrous teeth or claws. Percy wonders what happens if they get infected.

They stop in front of a cell with only two occupants: one, a woman chained to the walls, and two, a telekhine sharpening knives and holding tongs and a brand over a flame until they glowed.

"She's suspected of hiding a demigod," says Kronos, conversationally. "That, ah…" He clicked his fingers and tongue, making a show of thinking and keeping Percy on edge, waiting for the name. "Oh, Mason, was it? Jack Mason, maybe? A son of Hephaestus, at any rate."

"Jake," says Percy. "Jake Mason." His lips are dry and leaden as they move up and down. "Did you catch him?"

"Now then, Perseus, we wouldn't be torturing her if we had. We're not monsters. At least, some of us aren't. Although, of course, having harboured one demigod, she might have information on the whereabouts of others..."

They move on just before the woman starts to scream.

It's with dismay that Percy sees them coming to cells which hold demigods. "Be strong, now," Kronos whispers to him. "I know these were your friends, but you'll only make it worse for them if you do anything stupid."

Percy did know them, that's true. He's not sure he does anymore. As they walk past, he sees their expressions shift between shock, anger, betrayal, sorrow, and confusion. He doesn't know the words to calm them, to explain and excuse himself to them. It's like Nico and Clarisse all over again. Mark, from the Ares cabin screams that he's a traitor. Nyssa and Drew, children of Hephaestus and Aphrodite respectively, seem confused. When they go past Kayla's cell, she seems devastated to see him by Kronos' side.

It's only a little way off that they come across the cell Percy had been kept in before. Now, though, it is Malcolm's.

The son of Athena is lying on a stone bed, a thin blanket between him and the hard surface beneath. His grey eyes roll up to meet Percy's gaze as they come to the bars, and the son of Poseidon's breath catches in his throat. Honestly, Percy's surprised that Malcolm is still alive, but can't help but wonder if that's even a good thing. Chunks of his skin and flesh have been stripped away, he's bloody all over, and those eyes are the only part moving.

"He needs medical help," Percy murmurs to Kronos.

"We've given him enough ambrosia to keep him alive. We'll make sure he heals, never fear: he has to fight again, you know."

But they won't give him any more of their resources than absolutely necessary. There's a deep sorrow in Malcolm's eyes, and he looks far older than he is. There are bloodstains on the floor that Percy doesn't remember being there.

"Come," says Kronos, and again, Percy follows him on his way out.

Over the last couple of days, Percy has got use to eyes watching his back. From the crowds at the Empire State Building to Nico and Clarisse as Atlas took him to Othrys. The people living on the mountainside and the slave girl pleading for her brother's life, the titans at the breakfast table, the crowds in the arena, and Artemis, trapped beneath the sky atop of Mount Tam. They all make his skin prickle, the inquisitive gazes and the furious, but none hurt quite as much, none have the same uncomfortable power, as Malcolm's silent watch. The blood is too obvious a reminder of the suffering Percy has caused. Maybe Malcolm isn't the person whom Percy most loves or fears, but now he's the one he's most responsible for. It _stings._

Down a corridor and through a door, the floor is iron grating. The room has a block in the centre, with a boy about a year or two younger than Percy being forced down onto it, and his neck lain flat across it.

"He stole from us," says Kronos. "Some thieves we give a choice between imprisonment and losing a hand, but this boy stole food meant for _my_ table. So he dies."

The boy is skinny, obviously malnourished, and Percy can understand why he took the risk of stealing from the titans.

"For the crime of stealing my bread," announces Kronos, "I sentence you, Stephen Prosperus, to death." Then, to the men and monsters standing by, "Execute him."

A switch flicks in Percy's brain. _Enough,_ he thinks. He connects the boy here with the girl pleading yesterday. He has influence here. Kronos is working hard to maintain the illusion of Percy's willing cooperation with the titans.

"The first to touch him dies."

And, like magic, they freeze. The axe in the cyclops' hand drops, blade clanging and sparking against the floor. The humans shuffle backwards, none wanting to be the closest to him.

"My lord?" asks one of them. His question is directed at Kronos.

The pause is just quiet enough to hear a pin drop. It's also just long enough for Percy to realise that the titan lord is absolutely furious.

Then he speaks. "Of, course, as Perseus wishes. The boy can go free. And if he chooses to steal again, to prove himself _so_ ungrateful to his new lord's mercy – well, then I'm sure Perseus will be only too happy to tear his thankless head from his miserable neck. Boy, you'll begin serving lord Perseus in the morning. Get back to your quarters." That mad glint is back in Kronos' eye again, and Percy's in no doubt that he'll have to kill the boy for any further indiscretion. But the boy is safe. He's pushed against the boundaries of his imprisonment, and, implausibly, they've moved.

He follows Kronos out of the room and on the way back up the stairs. They follow the winding corridors, some of which Percy now recognises, but most of which remain a baffling enigma to him. Eventually, though, they reach the throne room. It's still empty, and Percy's wondering if the other titans ever use it, when he's seized by the throat and slammed against the wall.

"If you _ever,_ " hisses Kronos, _"ever_ do that again, I will go through the cells and kill three others, do you understand?"

Percy's breath comes ragged. He nods.

"You're here to help us, Jackson. Don't forget it."

Kronos throws him, like a ragdoll, across the floor. Percy skids, landing at the foot of Atlas' throne.

"Look after him. Or get Atlas to. I don't care." says Kronos. Percy rolls over to see Eos appear from the shadows.

"Of course, sire," she says, and Kronos leaves.

"My lady," says Percy.

"Perseus," she says. "Or do you prefer Percy? I know that Kronos doesn't really want us to call you that, but I don't mind. I'm sure there's room for two Percys in my life."

He hesitates. "Don't be embarrassed," she says. Then she pouts. "You're not embarrassed, are you? I'd hate to think I was making you uncomfortable." Her hand goes to his arm again, and she sit beside him. Her touch is cool but calming, and she's close enough for Percy to smell her breath. It reminds him of a fresh Spring morning. Though she glows gently, like the dawn itself, she would be beautiful even without that aiding her.

It occurs to Percy all of a sudden that he's breathing more heavily than usual.

"You know," she says, conversationally, "I could have any man I want. Any man in the whole world. I had Ares, Cephalus, Orion, Tithonus, Cleitus... and now I want you." Most of the names mean little to Percy; he's too preoccupied with the fact that her hands are moving from his arms to his waist, that she's pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, and that now one of her legs has come around to rest between his.

"Come back to my rooms," she says. "You won't regret it. I'm sure I could do a few things for you in return. Put in a good word with Kronos, help some of your friends... if you need any encouragement, that is."

"No thanks." Percy feels like his brain's about to short-circuit. He just turned _down_ that offer? He knows it's the right decision - a literal case of sleeping with the enemy could only end badly - but his body's still telling him he should take the words back.

Eos looks like she can barely believe it either. She glowers, and pulls away from him. " _No thanks?"_ she hisses. She's so small that the level of intimidating-titaness she manages to reach is both impressive and laughable.

Percy is neither impressed nor laughing. He's still trying to process the whole situation. "I mean, I appreciate it. I'm flattered. But. Er."

She storms off before he can say anything else. Percy lies there for a while, until Atlas appears before him.

The titan is definitely trying not to laugh. "Fun time without me, Jackson?"

"You _saw_ all that?"

"Oh, no. But it's not difficult to guess what happened."

"Really?"

"Really. You probably made the right choice. It would have ended badly for both of you."

"Right."

"Aphrodite cursed her after she slept with Ares. Now she's always a bit frisky, if you catch my meaning. She sometimes abducts handsome young men, but, the curse being a curse, none of them quite satisfy her properly. Cephalus accidentally killed his wife and then himself, Tithonos got turned into a grasshopper. You'd have spent a week trying to please her, and the rest of your life paying for not being able to."

"Oh."

"Still, you might regret turning her down as well. I'd be careful of her from now on. Kronos wouldn't let you come to any harm, of course, but I'm sure she could cause trouble if she tried."

Atlas sits on his throne, while Percy lies there for a while longer. He feels drained. He wonders if he'll be asked to move at any point.

"Your friends are arriving in a moment," says Atlas.

And just like that, Percy's focus shifts. _Ah_. He voices the thought. "Ah."

"Not pleased?"

"When are they getting here?"

"Five minutes or so."

Percy swallows. "Do I have to see them?" He knows it's cowardly, but he isn't sure that he can take another encounter. What does he say? He's working with the titans now but it's all for the best so don't worry?

"Not if you don't want to. We can tell them you don't want to speak."

Atlas is more cunning than Percy's realised. He can hide away if he wants, but it will be given – and taken – as evidence of his guilt. In a way, he supposes it is.

"I'll talk to them."

"I thought you didn't want to?"

"I changed my mind, didn't I?"

"Clearly."

Percy stands, and it's only a few moments before those great double doors are swinging open, and Nico and Clarisse are being ushered in by a guard of dracaenae. It's strange that they're not considered enough of a threat to have a titan guard, but supposes that that's less to do with physical power – especially with the cuffs on – and more to do with political power. Nico and Clarisse are two of the most dangerous demigods he knows, but not many would follow them into battle. Not that anyone's going to be following him anymore, either. It's amazing they did for so long, to be honest.

"Hi," he says, in a small voice.

"You bastard," spits Clarisse. Nico stands by her, sullen and silent.

"You'll respect him." That's Atlas. He's moving already, and Percy's barely registered what's happening before he strikes her, palm open. The daughter of Ares is knocked over by the force of the blow. The titan raises his hand again.

"Atlas. That's enough."

He's relieved to see the titan obey him, standing off from Clarisse, and letting her get back to her feet. He's even more relieved that she doesn't say anything else stupid.

Neither of them says anything else, so he does. "How are you?"

It's Nico who responds. "As well as can be expected."

Percy nods. That could mean anything. Atlas' presence makes things difficult. They can't talk here. And since he's not allowed anywhere without a titan, they can't talk anywhere.

"Do you know what you're in for here?"

Nico frowns. "Nothing good."

"Right. Fair enough. I'll see if I can do anything for you."

Nico's suspicious expression doesn't shift. 'Doing anything' for them could be taken as a threat just as easily as an offer of help. Neither he nor Clarisse says anything, and the air between them and Percy grows thick and heavy with the palpable awkwardness of the moment, before Percy realises he's probably supposed to either give them one of Kronos' rambling speeches or dismiss them.

"You can go," he says, and the guards close in to escort them away. They're probably going to the dungeons, and he can only hope at this point that they'll be better treated than most down there.

"You handled that well," says Atlas. The doors make a booming sound as they slam together.

"Thanks," says Percy, knowing that their definitions of 'well' differ hugely. "So where are we going now?"

"Where would you like to go?"

"Well something must be happening."

"Things are happening all over the world, Jackson."

"You know what I mean."

"It's still up to you."

"Haven't I got, like… appointments or something?"

"Not as far as I am aware."

"Oh. And Kronos doesn't want me to… whatever…?"

"I'm sure Kronos would like you to do a great many things, but he isn't asking for any of them right now."

"So I can do anything?"

"More or less."

"I can go wherever I want?"

"Within reason."

"The summit?"

"The summit?" Atlas asks.

"I'd like to go up," says Percy. "To the top." His stomach rumbles. "Maybe stop off in the kitchens on the way."

"Then," says Atlas, with a smile that on anyone but a titan might suggest a mischievous mindset, "up we shall go. Possibly via the kitchens."

* * *

The staff are bustling around, white chefs' and cooks' clothing contrasting starkly with the black tiled floor and walls, but they all drop whatever they're doing when Percy and Atlas arrive, and stand to attention.

It's a strange feeling, that all these people are afraid of him and his power. They believe he could end their lives with a word, and, to tell the truth, he probably could.

They're all attentive, and when he says he'd like a pizza, they fall over themselves to make one for him. It seems to take only moments for a large one to emerge from the ovens room next door, edges drooping over the rim of the not-quite-big-enough plate, edges crispy but not burned and base thin but still chewy enough to give substance. It's one of the most perfect things Percy has ever seen.

"Stop," says Atlas.

The kitchen, which for a moment had busied itself again, falls silent once more. Atlas' voice is low and menacing, his fists are clenched, and his jaw is jutting out further than should be possible.

"Who made this abomination?" asks the titan.

The room holds its breath. Percy holds his pizza. A senior chef sends an apprentice through to the next room to find out.

The man who is sent for is extraordinarily fat. He has to turn sideways to fit through the door, and is out of breath when he arrives. His bow to the two of them is hurried, and he can barely bend at the waist, where his girth is almost at its thickest. There's sweat running down his brow, and he flinches as he sees how angry Atlas looks.

Percy wonders if Kronos would hear about it if he stepped in to save the man. Was it worth risking three lives to save another from certain doom?

"There's a problem with your pizza," says Atlas. "And because your pizza is now lord Perseus' pizza, that means that your problem is now a bigger problem."

"M-my – my lord?" stammers the man. His brow furrows, and his eyes squint at the offending dish. He looks as perplexed as Percy feels, but Percy isn't the one about to die for it.

"You heard me. What did you think you were doing?"

"We – we did our, our b-best my lord, to, er, ah, make the order we were given, my, my lord."

"Don't try to tell me he ordered that filth, now."

The sweat coming off the man could have powered a hydroelectric dam. He gambled desperately on the problem. "If it's a little… ah, overdone, my lords, we could make another?..."

His offer hangs, untaken, by Atlas.

"That sounds alright," offers Percy, hoping to spare the poor man and avert Atlas' wrath.

"Overdone?" asks Atlas, and Percy knows that the chef's gamble has failed. " _Overdone?_ " The titan seizes a slice of pizza from Percy's plate, and dangles it before the man's nose.

The other staff seem to have taken on the personality of yesterday's arena crowd. They sense blood, and are simply waiting for the excitement of the killing blow. They're ready to get drunk on murder.

"Tell me, _chef_ , if that's what they call shit-merchants these days, does this look _overdone_ to you?"

"Um." The noise of the man's hesitation leaves his body as though it took his life force with it. "No?"

"No. Correct. So. What. Is. Wrong. With. This. Pizza?"

"Um."

Atlas takes in a deep breath. He puts the slice carefully back on Percy's plate. He picks up a chunk of pineapple from it. He holds the pineapple under the chef's nose, and wafts it, left to right to left again.

"Tell me, _chef_ ," says Atlas, his tone caustic and dripping sarcasm all over the job title. "What do you think this is?"

"Pineapple?"

"Pineapple. Correct. And you have the temerity, the sheer cheek, to come in here and say you're worthy of cooking for lord Kronos himself?"

"...My lord?"

"Incompetent fool. Pineapple does not, I repeat, _does not_ go on pizza. Next time this happens I'll have your head."

Atlas stands before the baffled crowd for a moment. "AHAHAHAHAHAHA!" he bellows.

The crowd, apparently well pleased by the joke, also laugh. So does Percy, mostly from relief.

"Come, Perseus," says Atlas. "Upwards."

So Percy sinks his teeth into the pizza, thoroughly enjoying the sweet, moist tang of pineapple against the dryer, more savoury dough and cheese. He doesn't care what people say: this is the stuff. It's a little bit of everything. With pizza, he can imagine the long black halls as being someplace else, away from here, with no war or death or suffering.

The flight of fancy crashes to ground as soon as they step outside, though. The wind's picked up a bit since he was up here a few hours ago, and he's buffeted around as he walks towards the peak, where Artemis stands burdened by the sky.

Ouranos must be restless today: in the faint light, Percy can make out clouds overhead, and storms down in the San Francisco bay. He remembers, belatedly, that Annabeth's mortal family live in the city, and hopes that they're okay. Even the titans haven't gone after half-bloods' families. Yet.

Atlas waits a little further down, as though conscious that Percy needs some space. For all the tastelessness and awkwardness of the pineapple joke, it's made Percy even more comfortable around him. And so, unguarded and careless, the son of Poseidon finds himself rambling to the stars that have appeared in the early evening. If the moon goddess happened to be close enough to hear his every word – well, that was just chance, wasn't it?

"It's funny to think that no-one ever really has control, isn't it?" he muses.

There is no response, either from the sky or Artemis.

"You look up there, at the stars, the planets, the moon. They look so important, so in control. But they're just things. They have their places and their paths, and that's it. There's nothing else. They don't actually matter; they don't change anything. All they do is react to the others.

He tries to remember, from the dim and distant science classes of yesteryear, something useful about the cosmos. Nothing reveals itself to him, so he changes tack.

"It's like fish." Here's somewhere he's comfortable. "You get these massive ones, like sharks, or whales - not technically fish, but that's not important right now. They look so impressive, totally incredible. You think, 'if I was a shark', or a whale, or whatever - maybe an octopus, I dunno."

Percy knows what he wants to say, but not how to say it in a way the titans will allow. He's fairly certain he's not really allowed to be talking here at all, but Atlas must be letting him, for some reason. This way seems good enough, anyway. At least he's making some sort of sense.

"Anyway, you'd have the world at your fingertips. Or tentacletips or fintips or whatever. You could do anything you wanted. Except you couldn't because you'd be an animal. Just some dumb thing, going on instinct. I mean, they have some consciousness, but they're a lot more interested in, say, krill, than making the world a better place."

He can feel his hands, cold from the moment he stepped outside, begin to go numb, losing dexterity and sensation. The wind is even more vicious now, and rain is beginning to drizzle down. The metaphors he's been using are clumsy, he knows, but they're all he has to communicate in. He hopes they get the point across. He has one more thing to say, one more point to make: his plea that he's doing the best he can. And Artemis is to hear it because she's the only person he can speak to who he trusts to hear it.

"And if you were to try something different, it might not work out. Sharks weren't meant to give us world peace. Sounds like a joke, doesn't it? But say, just for a second, that they tried: they'd suffocate on land, or starve from lack of food, because believe me, sharks need a lot of food. And they don't eat people either, or at least not intentionally. I've seen _Jaws,_ and it's all bull- well, not really important now, I guess."

He's rambling now, he realises this. He needs to focus. So where is Percy Jackson in the food chain here? Is he the great white or the goldfish?

"But they do their best. They try and survive, and, uh, maybe sometimes they try and help the other fish." Okay, so now he's really taking a risk. But Atlas hasn't stopped him yet, so he carries on. "But maybe helping the other fish doesn't exactly work out. Maybe it even makes things worse."

The palace staff are afraid of him as much as most of the other titans. So much that his word can make them hesitate to obey even Kronos' orders.

"So instead of helping, the fish just tries not to make things worse. Maybe... maybe it makes a deal with some kind of predator. There's a type of louse, I think, that just replaces a fish's tongue. It helps the fish, in a way, and in return it gets to survive. For the louse, that's enough."

So that means that the staff think that he's working with the titans of his own free will. Indeed, Kronos' inner circle are the only ones who really know he's not their loyal friend and ally.

"I get that it's not ideal. Nobody wants to live their life at somebody else's mercy, especially someone that might not be pleased that you're there. But the louse doesn't have a choice about it. It has to be live with the fish, or it dies."

In fact, Kronos was willing to spare the life of a thief simply to keep the illusion of Percy's co-operation alive. The veil must be thin indeed. And that in front of his own guards and executioners.

"Then again, lice can probably change. They could adapt, or evolve. So maybe they won't always have to live for that someone else. Sometimes, hope that the fututre will be better is enough. It's the light in the darkness. Maybe someday, somehow, you'll be the fish, even if for now, you're just the tongue If things can get better, that's the most valuable thing in the world.

But why would Kronos need to keep the pretence up in front of his own men, unless he wasn't truly certain that they were his?

And so, Percy realises, for all Kronos' declarations of ruling the country with an iron fist, he isn't even confident in control of his own palace.

He can't tell Artemis all that. Atlas might be lax about his rambling dissent, but outright plotting would be stopped immediately. He can eat his pizza though, and he finishes it off happily.

Pineapple never tasted so good.

* * *

 **That's chapter five, and that's also one quarter of the way through the story! What a time to be alive...**

 **Thanks very much to AnnaUnicorn and the guest who reviewed. All reviews are hugely appreciated, and thanks also to those who've favourited and followed so far.**

 **In other news, this story's rating will be moving up to M in a couple of chapters' time. There won't be anything massively more graphic than there already has been, but I feel it's enough of a change to warrant the step up.**

 **Happy Easter!**


	6. Out of Control

**Prized Possession**

 **6: Out of Control**

" _It is only if the murderer is a good man that he can be regarded as monstrous." - Graham Greene_

There were six of them on Peleus' back, including Percy and Annabeth. At the dragon's shoulders, he could see Will and Nico, and just behind him were Clarisse and, to his surprise, Jake Mason – who had an arrow sticking out of his leg. They needed to get down so he could be bandaged quickly.

Nico turned to face them, and shouted something. His voice was swept away by the wind, so he shouted it again. Percy could make out a couple of words. "Where… go…"

He grimaced up at Nico to try and convey confusion. It must have worked, as the younger demigod shuffled back past Will to get closer.

"Where are we going?" asked Nico. "You know the city better than any of us. Do we risk it, or try and go further off?"

"We should land in Central Park," said Percy. "It's big enough that we should be mostly safe."

"You want to land a dragon in the middle of the biggest and most famous open space in New York? A city that the titans just took control of?" asked Nico, incredulous.

Percy could only nod. "Yeah. Jake needs treatment, and it's pretty close to my Mom's as well."

"Percy..."

"What?"

Nico shook his head. "I just don't think we should be around our loved ones too much at the moment. Kronos will be looking for any weakness, and we don't want to lead him straight to our families."

"Right, so we should warn them."

"You know that's not what I meant."

"Alright," grunted Percy. "I'll think about it."

"We haven't got time."

"I'll think about it, alright? We're going that direction anyway. I can't just leave Mom and Paul in the middle of a city full of monsters without even trying to talk to them."

"You could just be putting them in more danger, Percy."

"Or I could be leaving them to die!"

Nico recoiled as though struck.

Percy's left hand was steadying himself on Peleus but he ran a frustrated and regretful right through his hair. The wind pinned it down and ensured he made little difference. "I'm sorry, it's just – look, if there's anything happened to them, I couldn't – if it was Bianca down there then you'd be just as desperate to get to her as I am."

Nico's look darkened. "Don't bring her into this, Percy."

"But it's family. You can't just leave them to die when you can do something about it; anything at all. You should know that."

"Like you did something for her?"

Percy made a bad decision. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. I wasn't there, I don't know what happened. I couldn't have done anything. Could you?"

Percy curled his free hand into a fist, only to relax again as he felt a hand come to rest on it. He looked back into Annabeth's eyes, a lighter shade of grey than the darkening skies around them.

"Not here," she said, looking at both of them. "Not now."

Percy nodded slowly at her. Nico moved back up past Will to watch their route.

Annabeth rested her chin on Percy's shoulder to try and speak quietly to him. "You know, he has a point."

"Don't," he said, cutting off whatever she was going to say next. "I know it's dangerous. I know it's stupid. But I can't live with myself if I leave and something happens. You've got to understand that. Please."

She nodded, slowly. "Just quickly. To make sure they're okay. To warn them."

"Right. Just quickly."

They made the rest of the trip silently, and no-one argued when they Peleus settled down in amongst the trees in Central Park, even if Nico did look like he wanted to murder someone. Probably Percy. Come to mention it, no-one looked exactly comfortable staying in the newly conquered titan city.

"Stay," Percy told Peleus. Then he looked at the others. "Maybe you four stay here and lay low," he said. "Me and Annabeth will stop by my Mom's and be back as soon as possible."

None of them seemed too upset with that proposal, so Percy and Annabeth set off at a slow jog towards the Jackson-Blofis residence. Percy hoped to the gods above that they were there, otherwise he wasn't certain what he'd do. Then again, they couldn't even be certain that the gods were still up above, could they?

The city was undeniably changed by the events of the battle that took place there only days before. There were fewer people on the streets than normal, and a heavy atmosphere of dread hung in the spaces not occupied by skyscrapers and office blocks. On the other hand, there was no obvious monstrous presence. No-one tried to stop them, and the mortals seemed unaware of what was happening. There was just a feeling of unease pervading every street.

The apartment block where he lived with Sally and Paul was in a nice, fairly central location, and, he suspected, funded almost totally by the petrification of Smelly Gabe three years ago. It didn't take long to get to, and within a few minutes, he was knocking at the door of the apartment. He stood there, waiting for the door to open.

He counted thirty seconds before ringing it again. Annabeth squeezed his other hand, not commenting on the sweat he could practically feel dripping off it.

Another few seconds ticked by. His eyes flicked over to Annabeth, who shrugged helplessly.

"They could be -" she started.

She did not get to finish, however, as the door swung open, to reveal Sally Jackson. Sally didn't move except a slight tremble from the shock of seeing her son there.

"Percy?" she asked, voice cracking.

Then, suddenly, Percy was enveloped in a warm, reassuring hug.

"Hi, Mom," he said.

"We thought you were dead," she said.

"So did I for a while. I'm not though. So… that's good, I guess."

Sally pulled away and looked at him with concern. "What's wrong?" she asked.

Percy should have realised she'd know immediately.

"Shall we go in?" he said. "It's kinda complicated."

His Mom nodded and led them into the living room. He made sure to lock the front door behind them.

"Percy?"

"Hey Paul. Good to see you're okay."

"You too," said Paul, trying and failing to hide his shock. "Er, you _are_ okay, aren't you?"

Percy shrugged and grimaced in what he hoped was a jovial fashion. "Alright, I guess."

Paul composed himself, and his statement that "That's good" came from behind a masked expression, mostly, Percy was sure, hiding his stepfather's confusion and worry.

"Paul, why don't you go and make us some tea?" said Sally. "You should be able to hear the conversation from the kitchen. Gods, but you two look like you need it."

They sat on the sofas in the living room, Sally positioned opposite the two demigods.

"So, we lost," began Percy. He didn't know where else he _could_ begin. "We – I – might have doomed western civilisation. That's er, bad, obviously. Um."

He looked into his mother's eyes. They shone full of worry and concern and Percy wanted _so_ badly to be able to tell her he had it under control, even if it was a total lie. He gave her the best story that he had.

"Kronos might not have properly _won_ , though, so we need to keep fighting to try and stop him. Chiron said he reckoned we could keep the gods alive through worship and sacrifices and things until we find a way to either restore them properly or to defeat the titans. So we'll do that. But it's not safe for you here anymore. I'm sorry. They have New York now, and they know you're here. If they have time to sort themselves out, you two will be some of the first they go for. Because of me." He stopped speaking, uncertain of what else to say.

"Do you two have anywhere else that you can go?" asked Annabeth. "Anywhere out of state?"

Sally considered for a moment. "Paul has a brother in Maine. I think his parents live in Indiana. There's a cousin in Texas, too."

"It's probably best if you stay with the cousin in Texas for a bit, or maybe his parents if you can't get that far. Maine's probably too close to here. You want to get as far away as possible." Annabeth spoke gently. Percy realised that her being here was one of the few small mercies that the apocalypse had granted him.

Sally nodded. "We'll get packing right away."

"Thank you," said Percy.

There was a pregnant silence, each of them waiting for one of the others to say something.

"Sally, is it alright if I use your toilet?" asked Annabeth.

"Yes dear – just on the left down there."

Thank all the gods for Annabeth, thought Percy. As soon as she was out of sight, he said "I don't think I can do this. There are so many of them. We had our chance and we blew it."

His Mom moved couches, sitting next to him and wrapping him in a warm, gentle hug. "Yes you can," she said. "You've done so much, Percy. You're so strong, so brave. You've come through so much, and sometimes when I look at you, you've come so far that I have to wonder when you did all this growing up. You can do it, because you're the greatest hero I know."

He rested his head on her shoulder. "I love you," she said. He wondered if he'd ever get a hug from her again.

And when Annabeth came back, it was time to go.

* * *

The skyscrapers and tower blocks on either side of every street formed oppressive walls that felt as though they were closing in. When Percy and Annabeth finally reached Central Park, the air in the open space felt clearer and sweeter than any they had ever breathed before.

Neither of them could see any problems, but they had an uneasy sense of eyes watching them from every angle. Percy sped up, then broke into a run, eager to leave New York as soon as possible.

Nico and Clarisse were standing guard, wandering in a wide perimeter around Peleus. Will was kneeling next to Jake, whose leg was now thankfully arrow-free, splinted, and freshly bandaged with a strip of shirt. All four noticed Percy and Annabeth as soon as they came through the treeline.

"Get on!" shouted Percy, waving at them. "Move!"

They sprang into motion, perhaps assuming that there were enemies in pursuit, rather than a simple, overwhelming sense of dread.

Percy had one foot on the dragon's leg when that dread was justified.

Thunder rumbled across the sky. Flashes of lightning in the distance contrasted sharply with the afternoon sun. Then, all the screens and walls of the city began showing an image: Luke's face, with Kronos' golden eyes glaring out from its brow.

Then he spoke.

"Mortals," he said. The voice was deep and smooth, a voice belonging to a far older man than the one whose body they could see. It was hard to believe a voice like that had fought a battle for Manhattan only a few days ago. "You are a faithless people. You no longer believe in that which you cannot see. This is a mistake. There is a whole world concealed just beyond your sight. Fortunately for you, I am here to reveal it to you."

Kronos smiled a chilling smile with Luke's mouth, and placed a hand over his heart. "My name is Kronos, and I am your new king," he said. "You may recognise my name. You all know the ancient stories of Greece and Rome, the tales of Troy and of Heracles. I am here to tell you that these stories are true. You live in a world of gods and monsters, where none may walk without fear of divine wrath."

He leaned in close to the camera, leering out at his audience. "I am here not for my own sake, but to protect you from the anger of these petty gods. It is for this reason that I must warn you of the boy Percy Jackson." He paused for a moment, perhaps to let the audience register the name properly. "If the name is unfamiliar as I'm sure it is to most of you, his identity can be summed up in a short sentence." Another pause, this time, Percy was sure, it was just for dramatic effect. The sentence itself was delivered as slowly as possible: "Percy Jackson is the most dangerous person in the world."

Percy moved. He climbed up onto Peleus' back, swinging his leg over the dragon's spiny hide. "Go," he said, urging the dragon upwards.

"It is for this reason," said Kronos, a picture of Percy appearing on the screen behind him, "That I am offering one million of your American dollars to anyone who brings me Jackson's head.

Rapidly shrinking figures rushed into the clearing below them as Peleus's wings pulled them higher. They pointed and shouted up at the fleeing demigods.

"It is for this reason also," said Kronos, "That to anyone who brings me the boy alive, I am offering _one_ _billion_ American dollars."

Jake, at the dragon's head, guided Peleus south-west, gradually leaving New York City behind,

and leaving Kronos' voice behind too, as he offered a reward for information leading to Percy's capture. The city's rooftops glinted gently in the afternoon sun. More worryingly, there were people gathering in the streets below. Some would be watching Kronos' message. If he had already found a way to dismantle the mist – likely, with Hecate on his side – then they might be pointing up at the dragon and wondering if they were about to come under attack.

"We need to land for food," said Will. "We haven't eaten since this morning, and I, for one, could do with remedying that."

Well, Percy couldn't say no to that. He called up to Jake that they should stop if they saw anywhere obvious to eat.

They glided along for a while, propelled only by the occasional lazy flap of Peleus' wings. Gradually, the huge tower blocks thinned out, replaced by buildings with only a few storeys: houses and garages rather than offices and apartments.

Before long, there were more trees, too, and the urban landscape spread out into a wide expanse of green.

Jake guided Peleus down into a clearing, where the dragon landed with a thump, flattening a couple of saplings which had been foolish enough to be growing there.

After dismounting, Percy took a moment to appreciate the warm remnants of the sun and the still air. He closed his eyes and basked.

"So the mortals are after us as well, now?"

He opened his eyes. It was Nico, of course, arms folded and a deeply unimpressed expression on his face.

"Seems so," said Percy, unwilling to be drawn into an argument.

"We can fight them off too," said Clarisse.

"Yeah, there's only seven billion of them," said Nico.

"I don't think the mortals are our biggest problem," said Annabeth. "They can be reasoned with, at least. Most of the titans can't."

"A billion dollars might make reasoning difficult," said Nico.

"Well, what's the plan then?" That was Jake, to Percy's surprise. Everyone looked at him, lying there against the dragon's leg.

Jake, clearly feeling all eyes upon him, blushed slightly at the sudden attention, but asked again, "What's the plan? We've got to do something, right? Do we go straight after the titans to try and level things up, or do we hide and wait for things to cool down, and whichever we do, where do we do it? We kinda need to decide. Hiding's only gonna get harder, and the titans are only gonna get stronger."

"It's true time isn't our friend," said Annabeth. "Er, excuse the pun. But we don't know _where_ we'd be attacking or retreating."

Percy took charge. "I'm starving, and I imagine most of you are a bit hungry. I can see some golden arches through the trees over there, so I say we attack that Maccies, and plan our next move from there. We'll think better on a full stomach."

"And if they attack us? If Kronos' message has been broadcast across the whole country?" asked Nico.

"Then we leave again, and find somewhere else. But we can't just cut off all contact with the mortals because they might be a threat. With camp lost, I don't know where else we'll get food, or… anything, really."

"What about Peleus?" asked Clarisse.

"We can't bring him to McDonald's, if that's what you're asking," said Nico.

"No, idiot. I mean long term. We can't wander around with a dragon. People would notice."

"He's a bit too helpful to just abandon," said Will.

"We can leave him here for now," said Annabeth. "And once we've decided what we're doing, we'll either set him off alone, or keep him with us."

"Great," said Percy, "a working lunch." He brought out Riptide and lopped off a suitable looking tree branch, giving it to Jake to use as a crutch. He looked at the others. "Let's go."

As it turned out, they were only a hundred metres or so away from the edge of the woodline, and McDonald's was only just across the road from there. They filed in, not making eye contact with anyone else inside. It was a small outlet, but crowded, with a good thirty or so people inside. A TV in the corner was showing the news. There didn't seem to be anything about gods and demigods on there yet.

Will and Nico went to order. The others huddled around their small table and debated their next move in hushed tones.

"Obviously we want to attack," said Clarisse.

"Do we?" asked Percy.

"Yes, _Prissy_ , we do. The more we wait, the stronger they get. I enjoy a challenge, but I'm not suicidal, so I say we attack soon."

"But where?" asked Jake. "We don't know anything about their army. New York looked more or less empty, and Othrys is across the country. Can we get all the way there without them noticing? And once we'd arrived, could we beat them?"

"We wouldn't have to beat them in a straight fight," mused Annabeth. "We could use guerilla tactics – launch raids and try and assassinate their leaders. But I don't know how we'd get there. Peleus is our biggest asset, and the only way to get there quickly, but he's too big. We'd be noticed. You all saw how in New York people were on the streets trying to catch a glimpse of him. It would be the same everywhere we went."

"Could we go by train or something?" asked Percy. "Or maybe even now, Zeus wouldn't blow me up for flying."

"Kronos would," said Annabeth. "You're a wanted fugitive, remember? You'd never get through the pre-flight checks, and I wouldn't fancy our chances at a train station, either. We'd have to go by foot or car, if we can get one."

"And say goodbye to a quick attack," said Clarisse. "They'd have shored up by the time we showed up, and be ready for a long war."

"What about hiding?" said Will, arriving back with Nico and six Happy Meals. "Couldn't we just wait until we know their plans, and can make one of our own?"

"Could be too late by then," said Clarisse. "They're not just going to tell us their plans."

"Guys," hissed Jake. "Look."

They looked, and life got a little bit harder.

The news on the TV in the corner had caught up with events in New York. "Across the north-east of America," the anchor was saying, "People were shocked this afternoon, as what was apparently every electric device in the region was commandeered by a man who claimed that the Greek myths were real, and that he was Kronos, the Greek titan of time."

The picture switched to a reporter on location in New York. "Well, Susie, a time lord might seem like something out of 'Doctor Who' _,_ but now we're being told that things we took for fiction for two thousand years are actually true. Now, a lot of people's first reaction might be to say that it's just a prank, but authorities are saying there is no evidence that a cyber attack has been carried out. Now, that suggests two answers: either there are people who can carry out a cyber attack of this magnitude without leaving a trace; or this man really is the titan Kronos. From where I stand, especially coming less than a week after the suspected terrorist attack on the Empire State Building, both are pretty terrifying, and upset our view of the world as we know it."

"Thank you, Chris," said the anchor. A picture of Percy appeared onscreen. "Now, one of the biggest questions we have about this event is the identity of Percy Jackson, the boy named by Kronos as 'the most dangerous person in the world'."

"Crap," said Clarisse.

"Well, we've done some digging, and it seems that Jackson is a teenager from New York, who has been in the news before, as he was abducted and taken across the country by a crazed kidnapper when he was twelve. It's not clear if the events are connected, or why this man wants him so badly, but..."

"We can't stay," said Percy. "Let's go."

"Give it five minutes," said Annabeth. "Look, everyone's watching the TV."

"So?"

"So when you see people leaving in the middle of the biggest news in history, you start to wonder why they aren't paying attention. We should wait until the bulletin finishes, then go."

"Okay, and what are we doing when we do go? We can't stay," said Nico.

"If I go, there will be trouble," said Will. "If I stay there will be double."

"What?" asked Clarisse.

He shook his head. "Nothing," he said.

"It doesn't matter if they know where we are as long as they don't know what we're doing," said Annabeth. "Is there anything we can do that they wouldn't expect, or that they wouldn't understand?"

There was silence, apart from the sound of Nico eating.

Then, "What about if we just go a stupid route?" asked Percy.

"Then it would be stupid," said Clarisse.

"How do you mean?" asked Annabeth.

"If we go straight to Othrys, it's kinda obvious, isn't it? They'd know what we were doing by the mid-west or so. But if we went north first, for instance..."

"They'd still notice as soon as we turned south," said Annabeth. "We couldn't get close."

"We could only get as far as Idaho on Peleus," said Percy. "Maybe Washington, or even Oregon, if we're quick. That's where we could let him go, maybe into Canada. He'd probably be safe there. But we could go south without them noticing, then. It's the quickest way for us to get there safely that I can think of, and if we're lucky, when we arrive they'd expect us to be in Alaska or somewhere. We only lose a day or two, in that time. And then we do what we can from there."

The sound of Nico chewing returned as the group considered this option. Eventually, it was the son of Hades who broke the silence.

"Seems like the best option we've got at the moment, anyway," he said.

Percy supposed this was a peace offering, of a kind. They could do without being at each other's throats while the future of the world depended on it. He nodded his thanks to Nico.

When the news was over, they went north.

* * *

"I'm hungry," Percy called back to the others. "Let's stop for some food!"

It was the second day after they left camp. They had eaten in Pennsylvania, Wisconsin and Montana the previous day, and Percy was looking forward to finding out how the fast food in Idaho – or possibly Washington now, as they came down from the Rockies – was different from the same food in different states.

Unfortunately, Annabeth shook her head. "We've got no money."

"What?!"

"We've got no money!"

"No, I mean, how?"

"We left camp in the middle of an attack, Percy. None of us were really thinking of funds for the future Everything we had went on McDonald's yesterday."

He frowned. "Do we need to steal, then?"

"Probably. But Peleus needs to eat too. I've an idea. Stop a little way before the city – try that field, there."

"With the cows in it?"

"The one next to it."

They touched down, and once the group had dismounted, Peleus looked hungrily over the hedge, where the cattle were keeping well to the other side of the field.

"No, boy," said Percy.

"He won't have to wait too long," said Annabeth.

"What?"

"We're having beef. Will, can you shoot a couple of cows for us?"

Will nodded, moving over to the hedgerow with his bow out and an arrow nocked. He drew the string back, aimed – and paused. He stayed there for a good few seconds, like a statue. Then he loosed the shaft, drew another, and fired again. There were gristly thuds as they made contact with their targets, catching each cow in the eye. One let out a half-hearted moo as it slumped to the ground.

They moved into the next field and dragged the corpses back. Jake set up a spit for them as Clarisse skinned one.

"Percy, is there any water nearby?" asked Annabeth.

"Some in the trough over there. Not good for drinking, if you're wondering."

"Just be ready to put out any fires."

"What?"

She smiled at him. "You heard me."

The skinned cow was set up on the spit, and they backed away, as Annabeth ordered Peleus, "Fire!"

The dragon let loose a burst of the stuff, cooking the unfortunate animal through. Percy doused the flames catching in the grass.

They dragged the other cow over to Peleus who roasted that one too, with Percy again acting as damage control. "Good boy!" praised Annabeth. Percy wasn't sure if that was aimed at him or the dragon.

The cow, once Clarisse had carved away the burnt bits, was admittedly delicious. Peleus seemed to agree, as he ate his in only a few mouthfuls. He got half of the second cow too, once the demigods had eaten their share. He purred as he lay down after his meal.

"You know, I'll miss him when we have to let him go," said Jake.

Annabeth raised an eyebrow.

"Really?" asked Nico.

"Really. I mean he's a bit of home, isn't he? Wherever Peleus is, there's a bit of Camp Half-Blood."

Annabeth's eyebrow rose a fraction higher, and was joined by its peer.

"And he's got personality, too."

Annabeth opened her mouth to respond to that, but he cut her off.

"I mean, sure, it's a personality that revolves mostly around eating and sleeping all day and occasionally setting fire to things, but he's got a real… zest for life."

"Zest for life," repeated Annabeth.

"No, I agree," said Percy.

"Not you too."

"You get the feeling that he's really into it. And sometimes he can be excitable, and sometimes he can be a bit down, and sometimes, like now, he can just be kinda satisfied with everything. Look at him and tell me that's not a happy dragon. Don't you think?"

Annabeth smiled and shook her head in bemusement. "What I think is that you're a seaweed brain and that you," she said to Jake, "have had your brain fried by the forge. I'll miss him too, though." She took a breath and spoke again. "We need to send him into Canada."

No one responded to that.

"We should do it sooner rather than later. I still get the feeling we're being watched, and if we stick around too long here, they might suspect something. We should get Peleus into the air and going towards Canada with as much fuss as possible, in sight of the city, and then set off south ourselves."

"Party trick time, then," said Jake. He picked up a lump of beef and threw it high into the air. "Peleus, catch."

The dragon let loose a huge burst of flame, roasting the meat through and illuminating the mountains behind them and hillside around them. He caught the fragment in his massive jaws, and swallowed it without chewing.

"Okay, boy," said Percy. "Can you set off to Canada for us. Hopefully we'll see you again soon. And thank you."

Peleus looked at him reproachfully.

"Peleus, Canada!" said Jake.

The dragon launched itself into the sky and sped north, the air vibrating with the beating of his wings.

"How come he listens to you?" asked Percy.

"He must love me more than you," joked Jake.

Percy didn't get the chance to respond to that, as it turned out that their arrival had already been noticed by at least one person.

"Hands up," came a voice, with a thick Washington accent. They turned to look at the speaker: a short, stocky, grey-haired farmer, a small pistol in his hand aimed straight at them.

Slowly, hesitantly, they all lifted their hands. "Don't move. 911 are on their way. Property damage and theft, I'd say," he said, gesturing at the charred grass and what remained of the cows.

Unfortunately for him, the demigods couldn't afford to let themselves get taken to jail. Percy concentrated on the water, sending it swirling up hill in a little stream, before flying down into the farmer's back, wrenching his gun up and knocking him down. Clarisse picked up the pistol as Percy addressed the prone figure below him: "Stay out of our way," he said.

"We should kill him," said Clarisse.

"What!?" asked Will.

"So he can't give us away," realised Annabeth.

"Yup," said Clarisse.

"We can't just kill him," said Percy.

"We might need to," said Nico. "If we leave him, and he tells the police, it'll reach Kronos pretty quickly. He'll probably realise what we're doing."

"Doesn't mean we kill him," said Jake. "There must be some other way."

"I can't think of any that work," said Nico.

"Give me the gun," said Percy.

"Percy..." said Annabeth.

"Give. Me. The. Gun."

Clarisse handed it over, slowly, reluctantly. Percy pointed it at the farmer, who was looking up at him in horror.

"Listen," said Percy. "You're going to go home. You're going to tell the cops that it was a false alarm, or that we ran off. We're going to be sticking around for a while, and if anyone finds out about us, we'll know it was you, and we will come after you, and we really will kill you. Understand?"

The man nodded hurriedly.

"Everyone okay with that?" asked Percy. He could see that no-one was happy with it, but none of them had strong enough objections that they'd fight him over it here and now.

"Go," said Percy. The farmer fled, and he stuffed the gun into his pocket.

Once they'd set off towards the city, Annabeth pulled him to the side, away from the others. "Percy, are you okay?" she asked quietly.

He let out a hollow laugh. "Our home has been burned to the ground. Our friends are dead, or prisoners, or on the run, and we're on a suicide mission to the titan headquarters. But no, nothing's wrong. It's just that threatening to kill old people for getting in our way gets me down sometimes. I wouldn't worry about it," he said, before turning away and walking on.

* * *

The city – Spokane, it turned out – had an unwelcoming atmosphere. Its street corners seemed to be overflowing with people who stood and watched as the demigods walked past. People who could at any moment recognise Percy's head as being worth a million dollars. The word _loiter_ might have applied, except it wasn't nearly threatening enough.

They moved uncomfortably through the streets, looking for a place to stop.

Annabeth seemed uncomfortably quiet, and Percy wasn't in the mood to interact with anyone, so it was Clarisse and Nico leading them along the pavements and across the roads. Jake, leaning on Will, brought up the rear. With the help of nectar and ambrosia, he could now walk unaided, but Will said it was best not to risk it.

The sun drooped, hiding behind the taller buildings and edging ever closer to the ground of the horizon.

The shadows stretched along the floor, and the alleys only twisted more as the day went on. They were no closer to finding a place to stay.

They went down a new street, one they hadn't explored before. Towards the end, it darkened, narrowed, and twisted, before revealing four men with guns and baseball bats standing in the way of the exit. They moved into the centre of the street, blocking the demigods' way out.

Clarisse swore quietly as she saw them. Percy turned around and saw their escape route cut off by another group.

There were eight altogether, but none of them looked like they might be monsters in disguise. A couple of the older men looked like they might be military veterans.

"You're the kids off the TV," said one.

"You've got us mixed up with someone else," said Percy, pushing past Clarisse's clenching fist. "We don't want any trouble."

"No trouble?" said another. He pointed slowly at Nico. "Two hundred thousand dollars, dead or alive," he said. Then he pointed at Annabeth. "Five hundred thousand dollars dead," he said, "or one million alive. Then he pointed at Percy. "One million dead. One billion alive." He smirked. "One billion," he repeated. "You've got trouble as long as you've still got heads."

They raised their weapons.

"Don't fight," he said. "We'll take you dead if we have to. Maybe we'll even get paid extra for collecting spares, huh?"

Unfortunately, he had failed to take into account the fact that there was a fountain in the square behind him. With a flick of his wrists, Percy brought the water streaming towards them, knocking the mortals to the ground all at once.

"Run!" he shouted to the others, who didn't hesitate to obey.

Clarisse picked Jake up while Will and Nico scouted ahead and Percy and Annabeth stayed behind to fend off the mortals.

They were only halfway back down the street – but out of sight of the mortals, thanks to its twists and turns – when a door swung open at the side and a man leaned out. "Over here," he said. "Quickly!"

The half-bloods didn't have time to consider their options for long. They dashed through the door, which slammed behind them, leaving them crammed into a small, dusty room with a naked but dim bulb hanging from its ceiling.

Their rescuer was middle-aged, with hair that was busy making up its mind whether to go grey or simply fall out altogether. He wore white, and looked as though he might break if pushed over. He drew the bolt across the door and turned to face them.

"You'd better come on in," he said.

They followed him through the door, and found themselves in a large hall with walls lined by glass cases, full of artefacts from every period of history.

"Welcome to the Museum of European History, Washington" he said. "My name is Philip Prosperus. I'm the curator here. You must be Percy Jackson," he said, offering Percy his hand. Percy shook it. "Annabeth Chase," he said to Annabeth, and "Nico di Angelo," to Nico. "Your companions, I'm afraid, I don't know, as they are in the fortunate position of not having large bounties on their heads."

Jake, Will and Clarisse introduced themselves, and Philip smiled at each and gently shook their hands.

"I have lodgings upstairs, above the museum," he said. "If you'd follow me?"

They did so, and five of them soon found themselves squeezed onto a small sofa in Philip's chambers above, as he told them, the Roman exhibition. The sixth was Jake, who got the armchair due to his leg. Philip himself had a seat he'd brought through from his kitchenette.

"I've always been able to see things," said Philip. "When I was a child, I told my mother, and she scolded me for making things up. When I grew a little older, I began to think that my mind must be playing tricks on me, and so I put them aside as the signs of an over-active imagination. Then, when I was fourteen years old, I came across a book of Greek myths at school."

The light flickered, casting shadows on his face.

"I opened the book, read these two, three thousand year-old stories of creation, of the gods and the titans, and was enraptured. I grew up here in Spokane, and was never able to leave the city. Life at home was dull, bland, colourless, but here, in the pages of this book, was _adventure_. Heroes travelling the entire known world and beyond."

Percy looked at this ageing man whose voice seemed as dusty as the exhibits he looked after. He couldn't imagine Philip as a boy, he found, but Philip himself seemed to have been transported forty or fifty years into the past as he spoke.

"So, I read on. I read of Heracles and of Theseus, of Jason and of Perseus." Here he caught Percy's gaze, and held it for a moment. "The _original_ Perseus," he clarified. "And then I read the story of Troy, of Paris and Helen and Menelaus and Agamemnon and Hector and Ajax and –" He paused, breathless, but when he spoke again it was in a triumphant tone that told Percy he was nearing the climax of his story. "– and Odysseus. And then I read the stories of their journeys home, those that were still alive at the end of the war, and those who still had homes to go back to. But Odysseus' story was of particular interest to me, because of his encounter with Polyphemus, the Cyclops. Because living, homeless, in an alley not far from my house was a man, perhaps seven feet tall, more if he had stood straight, with one enormous eye in the centre of his forehead."

He smiled sadly here, as though remembering.

"I had told my mother about him, and she said that perhaps he had been to fight in Europe, and had lost the eye there. Well, I could believe that he fought in Europe, but I expect if he did so, it was two thousand years before the war which my mother had in mind, and either way, he never lost an eye there. And ever since, I have lived on the fringes of the Greek world, looking in with curiosity at that of which I could never be a part. I followed it where I could, and even had two children whose lives were caught up in it, but I was never anything more than a spectator… until, two days ago, a man calling himself a titan commandeered the airwaves to strip away millenia of illusion, and to put bounties on teenagers' heads.

"Then I saw news stories about sightings of a dragon, supposedly with people riding it. Those same teenagers, the anchors speculated. There were sightings over New York, in Pennsylvania, in Ohio and Michigan, and then on to the Canadian border states: Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana and even Idaho. It seemed for all the world as though these people were heading straight towards me. So I kept an eye out, until today, when a lynch mob chases those people straight to my back door.

"So," he finished, "you are welcome here for as long as you wish. I know that I'm only a mortal, but if there is anything I can do to help, I would be glad to."

"Thank you," said Annabeth. She took a deep breath. "Do you… do you know what happened in Manhattan?"

"No," said Philip. "Only that it was something important."

"We lost," said Percy. "Olympus fell. Do you want to reconsider helping us?" He felt Annabeth and the others fixing him with a scowl, but ignored them.

"I would think," said Philip, speaking slowly and picking his words carefully, "that that would mean you needed my help all the more now." He didn't sound offended by Percy's tone, only concerned. "People will know that you're in the area by now, and everyone has heard about the rewards for capturing or killing you. It's not safe for you to go out, not unless you can fight through the whole city. Until the search is off, you can live here. I don't think that I can stand by and watch the titans win. Besides," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "I could use some help working the tills in the museum."

"Thank you," said Percy, "but we need to be going south. We have to reach Mount Othrys so that we can..."

So that they could what?

Die fighting?

Remind the world they were still there?

Jump up and down and say 'notice me' until someone did?

"...start doing some damage," he finished lamely.

"That's a noble aim, but I'm afraid they know you're here. The stations, the roads, the airports… they'll all be closely monitored. Like I said, lying low is probably your best option for now."

"And wait for the net to close in around us?"

"Wait until the net is close enough for you to slip through one of the holes. I'm no fisherman, but I believe a son of Poseidon should know that nets are famous for such things."

Percy was pretty sure that was a rebuke to him for being rude, but he wasn't done. "And if they find us?" he demanded.

"Then all is lost. My plan is risky, I grant you, and requires a lot of nerve. But to leave now is suicide."

"And how long will we need to wait?" asked Percy.

Philip shrugged. "As long as is necessary. I'm sorry, I don't know. Weeks, perhaps."

There was a long silence as that settled in.

"You'd better show us how these tills work, then," said Will.

* * *

It turned out that Philip wasn't joking about the tills, though Percy, Nico and Annabeth were too well-known to be allowed out of the cramped rooms above the museum. Four days into their stay there, a bounty was released for Clarisse, too – a hundred thousand dollars, dead or alive – and Philip took her off welcoming duty. It hadn't been something she was much good at, anyway.

Life indoors wasn't much fun, but at least, they all reflected, it was life. Time was passed glued to the news, where coverage of the search for six missing demigods seemed to be all anyone could talk about, or else watching the clock above the door tick count the seconds. Philip provided them with playing cards and dug out his old movie collection, but no-one seemed to be able to concentrate on them.

Percy attributed his worsened ADHD to the fact that his life was in even more constant danger than normal.

On the sixth day, Philip had visitors.

The doorbell woke Percy in the small hours, but he had barely registered that it _was_ the doorbell before Philip burst into the room he shared with Nico, Will and Jake, hissing at them to hide.

Nico grabbed Jake and disappeared into the shadows as Will stuffed himself inside the wardrobe. Percy dove into a pile of boxes, which he tried to rearrange to hide himself as much as possible. He saw the light dim as Philip closed the door behind him, and waited, barely breathing.

There was the sound of the door opening.

"Evening Phil," came a voice, only slightly muffled by the thin walls. Percy recognised it almost instantly as belonging to the leader of the gang that had tried to capture them on the first day here, and his breath, light as it was, caught in his throat. Philip _knew_ those people?

"Good evening, Morris," said Philip. "What are you doing up so early?"

"Late, actually. Been searching homes since nine this morning."

"Shouldn't you be in bed now? Leave it for another day? You won't capture anyone if you're asleep on your feet."

"You saying I couldn't handle a bunch of kids, huh?"

"No, I just –"

"They just got lucky last time, understand? Anyway, I'm thinking I don't need to capture them. More trouble than it's worth, see? I can pay for Alice's surgery and the two of us can start a whole new life on a million eight hundred thousand. Who even needs a billion dollars?"

Suddenly, Percy was transported back in time a year.

A soul for a soul.

He had some sympathy for Morris.

If it hadn't been his soul on the line, he might actually have hoped the guy succeeded. But his life _was_ on the line, and Morris was speaking again.

"I hear you've got some kids hanging around here, huh?"

"Just my kids and a few of their friends, come back home for a few days of holiday before setting off somewhere again. Iceland this time, I think."

"Oh? Mind introducing me?"

"I would, but they've already gone. Set off yesterday evening. I believe the flight should just have landed a couple of hours ago."

"Huh. Mind if I look around, just to check up on that?"

"Morris, it's four in the morning. I really don't think you have any right to –"

Footsteps in the hall.

"Wouldn't want you to be sheltering _half-bloods_ , would we?" asked Morris. He spat the word _half-bloods_ like it was the worst insult he could think of.

The door swung open and Percy stopped breathing altogether.

He saw light on the wall through the dim crack between his boxes.

"This bed's still warm," announced Morris.

"They're electric blankets," said Philip, improvising quickly. "Steve must have forgotten to turn them off before he left. The boy's always wasting power."

"Electric blankets in summer?"

"Be grateful you don't have to live here. It's a very poorly insulated home in some parts."

"And why're there beds on the floor?"

"His friends were staying with us too, before the Iceland trip."

"Huh."

Feet shuffled around the room, and Percy saw half-silhouettes cast on the small patch of wall he could see, dancing in the dim light. Then the footsteps receded, the door closed, and he could breath again.

They must have gone into the girls' room after that, as there was further talking, too faint to make out. Percy stayed, tense among the boxes, ready to hide if Morris came back or to leap out at the sounds of violence.

There were only more footsteps, though, as the feet and the voices returned to the hallway.

"You're imagining things, Morris," Philip was saying. "Look, we're both exhausted. Go and get some sleep, and we'll talk about it another time.

"It seems awful coincidental, don't it, your kids arriving at the same time as the half-bloods?"

"It's just that, Morris. Coincidence. Now kindly get out of my house."

In the moment of silence that followed, Percy was convinced he was about to hear Morris attack Philip. Instead, he said "Watch yourself, Phil. Be careful who you give your loyalty to," and slammed the door behind him.

Percy climbed out from behind his boxes as Will pushed open the wardrobe doors, and both stepped out into the tight little hallway, where Philip was standing, staring at the closed door.

"You know him?" asked Percy.

Philip span, caught by surprise. He steadied himself as he realised it was Percy. "Morris used to work here," he said. "Until his wife became sick, almost two years ago now. He cares for her full time now."

Percy nodded, understanding. "Thank you," he said.

Philip gave a bashful smile. "I'm just surprised he fell for that lie about electric blankets," he said. "It was easy enough to check, but he just took my word for it. We shouldn't hear from him again, but if we do, I'll have every right to turn him away at the door."

He took Will and Jake off shop duty from then on, though.

Another day passed, and they'd been there for a week.

Then another seven, and it was two. The news reverted to other things, and though there were still occasional segments on the fugitives, and much time was still devoted to the discovery of the Greek world, they were no longer the headline news they had been. According to Philip, though, Morris and his gang were still searching the town furiously, desperate for the money.

Annabeth raided Philip's dusty bookshelves for Greek myths, scouring them for anything that might yield an edge over the enemy, or just a way to stay alive. Percy found her one night, poring over _T_ _he A-Z of Greek Monsters,_ _Gods, Mortals_ _and Animals._ It was of a size that suggested that if it was dropped, the floorboards might not stop its fall.

"Catchy title," he said.

She looked up, caught by surprise, and nodded.

"Anything helpful?" he asked.

She shook her head and sighed. "No. I'm only on 'C' so far, so here's hoping it'll get better."

"I'm impressed you've got that far," he said.

"If you've got a better idea..." she started, voice icy. There'd been an edge to it ever since the incident with the farmer. Too late to apologise for _that_ , now, but Percy could still try and salvage this situation.

He held his hands up, palms outwards. "Sorry," he said. "I meant, with dyslexia and all..."

Her shoulders dropped again. "I know. Sorry. It's just difficult. Like you said, all our friends are dead, and the only home I've ever had is gone, and I can't even read a stupid book because the words keep flying off the page." There was a tone of defeat in her voice.

"We don't know that they're dead," he pointed out. "Some of them could have escaped."

"Some of them could," she agreed. "But none of the others had a dragon. How far did they get?"

He sat next to her, unable to find a good answer to that.

She turned a page in the book.

"What's that?"

"Castor? He was –"

"No, the next one." He pointed to the illustration, of a monstrous creature that looked all too familiar. "The Cat – er, Catter –"

"Catoblepas?"

"Yeah. That."

She read the description aloud, slowly, stumbling over the more complex words as they swam before her eyes. "First identified by Pliny, the Catoblepas was a mythological creature from East – no – Ethiopia – with the body of a buffalo and the head of a boar, with its back pro – protected – by hard scales. Though, er, vegan? Vegetarian. Though vegetarian, the beast was highly aggressive, with… poisonous breath due to its diet of poisonous plants. Its gaze was also said to be deadly, like Medusa or the… basilisk, but its head was so heavy that it could only look down. This lead to the name Catoblepas, which means to look downwards in Greek."

She paused. "You've seen one?"

"Not here," said Percy. "Back at camp. In the woods, on one of the last days. When I was going to find the Apollo cabin, I ran into one." He looked down at his shoes. "It trapped me up a tree, took a while, meant I couldn't get to them quickly…"

"And then Harmony died that night and you blame yourself.

"I know what you're going to say – it wasn't my fault, I couldn't have done anything, she would probably have died even if Will had got to her sooner, but… you know that doesn't make me stop thinking about it."

"Percy, look at me."

He did. The grey eyes he found had a kind of soothing calmness in them. She reached into his lap and took his hand in hers.

"You did your best. I know it doesn't help much, but it _is_ important."

He swallowed thickly. "Thanks."

She studied him for a moment before letting go. Another page went over.

"This book," he said, "does it have _everything_ in it?"

"Not everything," she said. "But look at its size… most things, I'd guess."

"Could you turn to 'L' please?"

"Is this about Lamia? And Lilo?"

"If it might have something," he said.

"Then it's worth a look," she agreed.

The pages fell heavily over as Annabeth leafed through them, raising a small cloud of dust in the process.

"L," she announced. "There's a lot of it. Are you sure you'll recognise the name?"

"Yeah. It was something weird and Greek. I'll recognise it."

"If you hadn't noticed, this book is full of names that are weird and Greek, Seaweed Brain," she said.

He grinned crookedly. "Really? Would never have guessed that."

"We don't need your sarcasm here, Jackson."

"As you say, Miss," he said, saluting. "What's the first entry?"

"Lachesis," she said. "The middle fate. Measures the strings. Could they have said fate would kill you?"

He shook his head. "What's next?"

"Laconia was a place. Laconian Drakon… that's one of the worst. Maybe more dangerous than the Lydian Drakon Clarisse killed."

"I don't think so," said Percy, then noticed the next entry. "Ladon," he said. "Some bad memories there."

"I doubt they'd be able to get him away from the Garden of the Hesperides,"

"It wasn't him," said Percy. The page went over again.

It said, _Lala…_ something.

"Laelaps?" Annabeth asked.

Percy's brain whirred. "That one."

"Really?"

"I think so."

" _Di immortales_ ," she hissed.

"What? What's bad about that?"

"Laelaps was a dog –"

"That's not so bad," Percy interrupted.

"She was destined to always catch her prey, Percy."

"I don't…"

"She was supposed to have been destroyed when she was sent to catch the Teumessian Fox – that was a fox destined never to be caught. It caused a paradox, and both of them just… stopped existing. But if the Titans have got her somehow, and if they can give her your scent, then it's a matter of when, not if. She'll lead them straight to us."

That hung in the air for a minute as Percy tried to digest it.

"Right," he said. "But we don't know that they do have her for certain."

Annabeth looked at him.

"Yeah, okay," he said. "We've been praying pretty hard anyway. Maybe the gods can buy us some time."

"Hopefully," she said.

He flicked over the next few pages, past Laertes and the Laistrygonians, until he reached the page he was looking for: Lamia.

The picture showed a beautiful woman, smiling out of the page. A fang pressing down on her bottom lip ruined the illusion.

The description explained that she was a daughter of Poseidon, who, when caught having an affair with Zeus by Hera, was transformed into an evil vampire-like creature who ate children and seduced men, before eating them as well.

Percy had really felt the need for another powerful enemy with a personal vendetta against the gods.

* * *

Two more weeks passed, inching by at the pace of a lame snail, with six tightly-wound demigods growing claustrophobic in a dusty museum attic. If someone had lit a match, Percy was certain the whole building would have exploded.

Then they had been there a month.

"I think Morris and his friends have given up," said Philip.

"Given up? Just like that?" asked Will.

"Just like that?" asked Philip, and chuckled. "They've been looking for you non-stop for the last month. It's less a question of given up than burnt out. I don't think any of them really believe you're still here any more."

"So we can go?" asked Percy.

"Maybe," said Philip. "They shouldn't be too much of a worry anymore, as long as you're careful, but you've still got to worry about titan troops. There are some in the town, and something tells me that they won't give up searching so easily. On the other hand, people are a lot more reluctant to give information to monsters than they are to other humans, so again, if we're careful, we can get you out safely. There are actually a number of titan garrisons in the state, so if you get into Oregon, you've bypassed a sizeable army."

Percy nodded. "Sounds good. So how do we get away?"

"I think that in the night would be best," said Philip. "Pack your things for this evening. Can you call your dragon?"

"No. We sent him into Canada. We thought he was too recognisable."

"That was probably sensible. I've got a car. If one of you can drive, you should take it, and I can come and pick it up tomorrow. I'll give you some money for tickets, too. There are guards at the station here, and as far as I can tell that's true for every other station in Washington and Idaho, but the only ones in Oregon are in the big cities. It seems that they didn't quite have the troops to shut down the whole country. There's a border town, about four hours' drive away, called Troy, fittingly enough. If you set out at about seven or eight, you should be able to catch the last train going south. Does that sound alright?"

They all nodded and agreed. Five of the demigods went off to pack, but Percy stayed. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

Philip had turned away to start making preparations, but turned back at the sound of Percy's voice, blinking. "By all means," he said. "Go ahead."

"You said you had kids, right?"

Philip smiled softly. "Yes. A boy and a girl."

"They're obviously not living here any more, but I was just wondering where they are? We've been here a month, and they haven't visited or sent cards or even phoned, and then I remembered that on our first night here, you said your kids were caught up in the Greek world, and I was wondering – are they demigods?"

Philip nodded.

"And then I was wondering, since they're demigods, and since it's a dangerous time for us – are they okay?"

Philip's eyes darkened. "Their mother took them," he said, voice almost a whisper.

"Their mother? I've never heard of gods raising demigods themselves, but –"

"Their mother took them," Philip repeated, "as an offering."

Percy paused. "Oh."

"She gave them as a gift," said Philip, and it seemed to Percy that he was now thinking out loud, not addressing his words to anyone in particular. "To show her loyalty to Kronos."

The sun seemed to lose a little of its brightness as Philip said the titan lord's name.

The man's eyes locked onto Percy's, and his face was lined with the worry he'd worked so hard to hide for the last month. "I know that there's a war going on. I know that defeating the titans is the most important thing, but if they're at Othrys, if they're still _alive_ , please, please let me know. Please spare them if you can. They don't want to be warriors and they don't want to fight for the titans. They're just children."

There was a part of Percy that wanted to laugh at that last sentence. "We all are," he said instead. "If I do see them, though, I'll do my best to take care of them."

"Thank you."

There was another question that had to be asked, though Percy had little stomach for it.

"You said their mother took them. Who is she?"

A shiver went down his spine before Philip had even said the name, as if Percy's body could sense the danger associated with it.

"Hecate," said Philip. "The goddess of magic."

* * *

"That Mustang's been following us since we left Spokane," said Annabeth.

"We're on a main road. It's probably just going the same way as us," said Nico.

"And if it isn't then they've already had plenty of time to report us. We've been driving for two and a half hours, and they haven't even had a bathroom break."

"It's not as if no-one in the whole world ever goes to Troy, is it?" asked Nico.

"Well, we can't exactly outrun it," said Percy. Philip's car had turned out to be a cranky old Ford, barely roadworthy and barely big enough for the six of them to fit inside. Clarisse, the only one of them who could drive, reckoned it would get them to Troy, but not much further.

"There's an easy enough way to check if they're after us," said Annabeth.

"What's that?" asked Percy.

"Take the next turning," said Annabeth. "If they take it too, they're following us."

"Or we might just have turned onto the route they were taking," said Nico.

"So we don't go on a route _to_ anywhere. We go in circles, or up and down, and then we'll be certain. Go right here."

Clarisse took the turning, onto what the sign said was Route 194.

They all looked back at the turning as the Mustang arrived at it. The headlights turned until they were pointing directly at the old Ford.

Percy, looking back from the passenger seat, caught the glint of satisfaction at being proven right in Annabeth's eye. He felt a thrill go through him at the idea that something might finally be about to happen again.

After a couple of minutes, there was a fork in the road.

"Take the right again," she said. "Make it seem like we're doubling back on ourselves."

The Mustang took the same road.

"They must be following us," said Jake. "No way is this coincidence. Not with our luck."

 _Our_ luck? Percy wanted to ask. How many life-threatening and world-endangering quests have you been on then, Jake? How many angry immortals have you had to fight?

He said nothing, realising that it would only make the situation worse.

"Shall we try and lose them, or confront them?" asked Annabeth.

"Confront them," said Clarisse. "I don't want anyone reporting back on us."

"We should find a good spot to stop then. Somewhere remote and out of sight."

They followed the road in silence, through a small town which named itself on the road signs as Union Centre, then carried on for another ten minutes, then twenty, then thirty.

"There's another town coming up," said Annabeth. "We should stop here. I have a feeling it won't get any better.

Clarisse responded by jamming her foot down on the brake. The car skidded to a stop by the side of the road, and they all climbed out. It was a hilly area, with clusters of woods scattered around. The Mustang's lights dipped as it came down towards them, and Percy felt the cold metal of the farmer's gun in his pocket, where he'd stored it. Just in case.

The Mustang's engine roared as the driver shifted gears, but when he came to a stop, the car moved far more quietly and gracefully than the Ford had.

The engine stopped and a door opened, but the headlights remained on, spotlighting the demigods and concealing the figure who emerged.

There was only one of them and Percy recognised the man as soon as he stepped into the car's beams. He was holding a shotgun in his hands and had a pistol at his hip.

"Morris," he said.

"Guessing Phil told you my name, huh, half-blood?"

Percy didn't reply to that one.

"Come with me quietly and we'll have no problems. I get more money for taking you in alive, after all, but you so much as hint at trouble and God help me – well, titans help me – I will shoot you dead on the spot."

"Where are your friends, Morris?" asked Percy. "Didn't they want to come with you? Did they think the money wasn't worth the risk?"

He could see Morris' teeth as the man smiled. "Don't try to bait me, huh, half-blood. It ain't gonna work. Now, the way I see it, I don't need all of you. I need the one who's worth a billion by himself, or failing that his body and the girl who's worth a million. I wouldn't mind taking the other two either, but those two without rewards, you can go. I don't care about you."

"So, what," asked Percy, "we're supposed to decide who dies and who lives between ourselves?"

"Not exactly," said Morris. "You decide whether or not you come quietly, and that gives me the number between one and six that is the number of shots I have to fire and the number of half-bloods I have to kill. So what's it going to be?"

Percy gritted his teeth. "We're not getting in that car," he said.

"Oh?" asked Morris, raising the gun to point at Percy.

Over to Percy's right, a head of blonde hair, worth five hundred thousand dollars on its own, moved suddenly.

Morris' gun moved suddenly, too, swinging over to point at Annabeth.

Percy, though, had demigod reflexes, and moved fastest of all. His hand plunged into his pocket and brought out the farmer's pistol. His finger twitched on the trigger. A bullet planted itself into Morris' skull before the man could blink.

Percy's brain shut down as he watched the effect's of Morris' doing the same.

The man's body spasmed as it fell to its knees. There was only a little blood oozing from the bullet hole in his forehead, but much more was splattered out onto the grass behind him.

Percy could barely believe he had just shot the man.

Annabeth was safe.

The dead thing that had once been Morris, a man who loved his wife enough to quit his job and care for her full-time, who cared for his wife enough to turn bounty-hunter to pay for her surgery, slumped face-first into the dirt.

Percy saw, as if for the first time, his friends' faces.

There was a haze of gunsmoke and death in the air, and the only thing he could see through it was horror.

What other options were left to him?

He ran.

* * *

 **I bet you all thought I'd given this one up, didn't you?**

 **There are a few notes here, so buckle up, buttercups.**

 **First off, the proposed rating move up to M will happen either next chapter or the one after. I haven't quite decided yet.**

 **Secondly, bearing in mind the time it took me to finish this chapter, and the fourteen more chapters I've got planned after this one, I just wanna explain how that's going. I started this story off as an attempt to prove to myself that I could write a decent story about the length of a novel. Of course, I've never written a novel before...**

 **It turns out that, while I haven't quite bitten off more than I can chew, I may have planned this poorly and got a mouthful that's a little uncomfortable to work my mouth around. You know the sort, when you have to pray that no one says anything funny or that you don't need to sneeze in case it makes you spray your food all over the grandparent sitting opposite you, who has a very clear sense of what's acceptable at the dinner table.**

 **What, that's never happened to anyone else?**

 **Of course, one way of getting around this is that tricky operation of spitting out half the mouthful when everyone's looking at pictures of the latest grandchild that one of your cousins has had, then finishing to chew what's left before stuffing that half-eaten glob back in before anyone looks back, so that you can actually eat your whole meal without choking on it.**

 **You're not going to tell me that _that's_ never happened to any of you, are you?**

 **So yeah, that's kind of what's happening here. I've taken a step back from this story so that normal life can recommence around me. (Well, I took the step back at Easter, but who's counting?) This is NOT an abandonment, or even a hiatus. I'm going to continue working on this and the story will be finished. It's just that, as you may be able to tell, it's gonna take some time. I will write other things at the same time, both fanfiction and original stuff. But never fear; I'll persevere.**

 **Thanks to AnnaUnicorn and Quihi for REVIEWING, and especially to ShadowsClaw, whose REVIEW served the double purpose of reminding me that this fic existed and giving me the motivation to finish the chapter.**

 **Hopefully I'll get another chapter out before the end of the Christmas holidays (merry Christmas all, by the way - that feels weird to be saying when the AN at the end of the last chapter was happy Easter) but don't hold your breath for it. Seriously, you'd die. Actually, no, you'd fall unconscious and then start breathing again, but still. It would be very silly of you to do that. You need to learn to look after yourself. Anyway, where was I...?**

 **What with this being 11,000 words long, (another reason why it took so long to finish) there are probably mistakes. Sorry about that. Also somehow the transfer from Word over to somehow caused it to gain about 200 words, which probably means that there's a paragraph or two that randomly repeats itself somewhere or something. I've had a look, but can't find anything. Feel free to point these problems out in REVIEWS.**

 **Speaking of which, GUYS. I've just realised that I've been writing Othrys as Orthrys this whole time! How could you let me do this? And to think I trusted you... *swoons from the sheer betrayal***

 **Yeah, I've gone and fixed all of those in the previous chapters now. So if you happen to feel like reading those again but then think to yourself 'Oh no, I can't because the stupid idiot went and misspelled that mountain name that crops up every few thousand words, and that's something that I just _cannot_ cope with,' then you can be at peace knowing that the issue is fixed. Of course, I might have missed one or two, and if so, feel free to let me know in a REVIEW.**

 **Two final things -**

 **One is that I realise Morris, not having a job and all, probably couldn't afford a Mustang, but I wanted something big and loud and angry, and my (admittedly limited) knowledge of cars suggested that a Mustang would sort of fit the bill.**

 **The other is that I've never been to Washington, so this whole chapter was written based on Google Maps. Blame them if anything's wrong, but if it isn't, I'd like to offer my thanks to the fine folks at Google Maps for their helpful maps of Washington state. Also, I know Spokane isn't exactly on the Canadian border, but I figured if Peleus' has flown across almost the entire country in under three days, then he could make it that little bit further without too much trouble. If there are any Washingtonians (is that the word?) reading this and you spot any mistakes, feel free to let me know in a REVIEW and I'll do what I can to fix them.**

 **If the capitalisation of every mention of the word didn't make it obvious enough, please review. Views and visits and follows and favourites are all very flattering but reviews just make my day. And make me write faster.**

 **Until next time, whether that's in a week or a month or a year - but hopefully not a year -**

 **Jeff. (Definitely)**


	7. In Extremis

****AN: Obviously with the rating going up to M there's some slightly heavier stuff in this chapter, and I should probably include a trigger warning for rape in this chapter.****

 ** **Prized Possession****

 ** **7: In Extremis****

" _ _The atrocities that horrified us a week ago become acceptable tomorrow." - Joseph Heller__

It only takes Percy a few days to realise that the dawn is his favourite part of the day. Life on Othrys is such that he now rises with the sun, so that he can sit and gaze out of his window. From the mountain, he has a beautiful view to the east, so he can see the sun climb over the rolling hills and cast its warmth over his face.

He wonders what happened to Apollo. Does he know that his sister is bearing the sky again? Does he blame Percy?

The real reason Percy loves the dawn, though, is because it is __his__. Atlas or Perses, whichever one is on duty that day, won't come and get him until about eight o'clock, which gives him plenty of time to relax in the glow of the morning. It makes him feel like Rapunzel, except with more sensible hair.

Unfortunately, while dawn is Percy's favourite part of life, Percy seems to be Dawn's. Eos follows him constantly, whispering to him and leaving lingering touches on his skin. When he tries to push her away, she chuckles coldly and vanishes. It's disconcerting, rather than scary, but Atlas says he is worried that she plans mischief, and Percy can't see it ending well for either of them.

Othrys being the titan stronghold, Percy grows used to seeing other members of the family around the place, too.

Most, like Oceanus and Tethys when they visit, choose to hide their disgust behind a thin veil in public, and treat him to scathing remarks and icy glares him the rest of the time.

A few others, like Prometheus and Perses, simply don't care, and ignore him whenever they have the choice. He quite likes those ones.

Atlas is the only titan who seems to have any kind of positive feeling towards Percy, excluding the slightly disturbing nature of Eos' feelings. Friendliness is too strong a word, but Atlas seems to respect Percy's efforts in the war, and to have a little sympathy for the way Kronos is using him now. The titan is not keen on subterfuge or trickery.

And then there are those who hate him openly, even when Kronos is present: Hyperion and Menoetius, whom he often sees whispering together in the corridors. They always stop abruptly when they catch sight of him, though.

Othrys is spacious enough that he knows they could find meeting spots where he wouldn't accidentally come across them, so he's pretty certain that it's an intimidation tactic. He hopes that they're loyal enough to Kronos that they wouldn't __actually__ kill him, but that begs the question of what they __are__ plotting. The uncertainty there is every bit as terrifying as the thought of death, in a way.

That's only the times when he's allowed out of his rooms, of course. He's tried to leave the room without Atlas or Perses three times: the first, in the evening, after they dropped him off, the second in the middle of the night, when the rest of Othrys should have been asleep, and the third in the early morning, before they arrived to pick him up. Each time, he made it some ten or fifteen metres down the hallway before his cuffs activated, leaving him squirming on the tile floor until he crawled his way back bed.

However confident of control the titans are, there are clearly some things they still don't want him doing, and as in every other area of life, he is powerless to defy them.

For now, though it is dawn, and Percy is able to cast these things from his mind, leaning over the sill and gazing out at the glow spilling over the hills.

He closes his eyes and he __basks__.

It can never last, though. He's disturbed by a tentative knock on his door.

"Come in," he says.

It's Stephen, the slave-boy he saved from execution. Kronos has made him a gift of the boy: he's now Percy's personal property. Now, he brings Percy fresh clothes every morning, thankfully devoid of the logos that marked the early days here. Kronos loved humiliating Percy, but it seems he values the illusion of his collusion even more. If Percy wants it, Stephen can bring some breakfast too, but Kronos isn't happy if he's absent from the main rooms too often, so he's saving those days off for when he needs them most.

"Thanks," says Percy, and Stephen bows. Percy's tried to tell him that when no-one else is there it's unnecessary, but Stephen seems scared of stopping, and Percy honestly doesn't feel comfortable pushing him. He can't know what's happened to the boy before now. To be honest, thanking him is also unnecessary, if Stephen's his slave, but it would feel wrong not to say it. If he can't free the boy, he can at least show him some appreciation for the work he does.

He laughs wryly as he finds himself calling Stephen a boy. He's the same age as Percy at least, if not a little older. On the other hand, Percy doubts Stephen's seen half of what __he__ has in his life, even as a prisoner on Othrys.

There's a red mark, just beginning to fade into the black of the shirt. Blood.

"Stephen?" he says.

The boy, about to leave, halts and returns to Percy's side.

"My lord?" he asks. The honorific is still strange to hear, but Percy is getting worryingly used to it.

"There's blood on here."

"I'm sorry my lord, I'll go and fetch some new clothes and have these washed," says the boy.

He picks them up and turns to go, but that's not what Percy was asking. He grabs Stephen's arm, but in response the boy gasps in pain and the clothes slip to the floor in an untidy heap. In an instant, Stephen's wrenched his arm away and is on the floor, scooping them up.

"Stop," says Percy.

Stephen freezes, like a rabbit caught in headlights, torn between obeying his master and whatever secret it is he's keeping from Percy. Percy crouches next to him, and, taking him gently by the arm – careful to make it the upper part this time – he rolls back the shirt sleeve.

First, there's blood that's run down his arms, from which came the stain on the clothes.

Then he reaches the wound that caused the bleeding.

 _ _JACKSON__

Percy gags.

Someone has taken the time to mark Stephen, and not with a brand – the word has literally been carved into the skin. The boy will carry Percy's name around on his arm in the form of scar tissue for the rest of his life. Percy looks up into Stephen's eyes, eyes a blue so impossibly deep and dark that they could be mistaken for black.

"I'm so sorry," he says, dumbstruck.

Stephen shakes his head, and picks the clothes up, saying "It's nothing, my lord." He leaves, and when he returns with fresh clothes, neither of them mention it. He's been totally broken by the titans.

Percy can understand that, because so has he.

* * *

Perses is on duty today, and a part of Percy is grateful that for the silence in which they walk to breakfast. The rest of him resents it, desperate to talk, either to express his rage or to take his mind off it.

Then Eos finds them.

She appears suddenly at Percy's side, and trails a finger across the back of his shoulders. "Hey, Percy," she purrs.

"My lady," he says. He has to be polite, after all.

"Have you reconsidered my offer?" she asks.

He swallows. "My answer's the same, my lady," he tells her, and it's impossible to miss the flash of anger in her eyes. Every time he rejects her seems to rouse some new fury in the titaness.

In an instant, she's at Perses' side, latching a hand around his biceps. " _ _Hey__ , Percy."

The titan smirks, and though his response is, like Percy's, "My lady," there's a flirtatious edge to his voice that gives the words a different meaning. Though he plays it cool, Percy notices with surprise that there's a red tinge to his cheeks. Perses is blushing.

"What if I were to make __you__ an offer, hmm?"

Percy wants to cringe at the words, which sound like they were ripped from the script of a bad sex comedy. Perses, though, doesn't seem to mind too much. He-

Oh gods. Titans. Whatever Percy's supposed to say now. He just __growled__. Percy wants to die of embarrassment, but before he can, he notices the two titans casting him resentful glances out of the corner of his eye.

"I wish I could," says Perses. "Maybe later."

"Well, whenever you're free," said Eos, whose method of letting go of his arm is by running her hand sensuously down its entire length. "The offer's open." For all the awkwardness of the situation, Percy can't seem to tear his eyes away as the titaness of dawn glides away down the corridor.

Perses coughs. "Come," he says, and Percy follows.

* * *

Breakfast passes smoothly, undisturbed by any arguments or the pressures of the outside world. Kronos signs death warrants while Perses lounges in his chair, and Percy quietly spoons cereal into his mouth, trying not to draw attention to himself by crunching too loudly.

"I still say you should execute him, brother," comes a voice. Percy doesn't react, knowing that they're talking about him, and that to respond will likely only make things more difficult for himself.

"Why is that, __brother__?" asks Kronos, and Percy risks a glance up, seeing that the new arrival is Oceanus. The titan of the sea is standing with his arms crossed, a contemptuous look on his face.

"Because he's more trouble than he's worth. We all know that he'll take the first chance he gets to escape, and until our hold is more secure, we can do without such irritations."

"You have raised this before, and I seem to remember telling you that there was nothing to worry about."

"Bro-" Oceanus hesitates, and, perhaps realising he is on thin ice, rephrases. "My lord, for as long as you remain in the mortal's body-"

"Hecate is working on it," said Kronos, sharply.

"Nevertheless, the boy will not stay here willingly."

"Perseus will not have the opportunity to take his leave of us."

"No prisoner is __supposed__ to escape-"

" _ _And this one shall not__ ," hisses Kronos, on the verge of exploding. Percy feels like he's sitting next to a geyser. "I can only assume you have something else to say, or did you plan only on regurgitating concerns I have already dealt with?"

"I don't believe it is worth discussing our plans in front of the prisoner," says Oceanus, stiffly.

"Perhaps not, but despite his reputation for idiocy, Perseus has proven himself at least moderately bright during his stay here. He is aware of how we intend to use him, so you can speak freely."

Oceanus' jaw clenches visibly. "I think you overestimate his importance to the rebel cause," he said. "Seeing him surrender to you in New York and hearing that you commanded the mortals to worship him as one of us will have been a great blow to them, but I cannot imagine that there is any way left to hurt them. They will have disowned him and found a new leader to follow, and the only way left we can shock them is by killing him. They have seen everything else already."

Kronos runs an idle finger along Luke's scar, puzzling over the issue for a moment. "Perhaps for many of them, that is the case," he agrees, "but there are memory's inside this one's head… it is hard to explain such __mortal__ feelings, but I will do my best. The fact is that the rebels knew Perseus. He was not just their leader; for many of them, he was their friend. To kill him makes him a martyr, makes him someone worth fighting and dying for again, but as long as he is here with us, he is simply another problem with which they will struggle as they try to wage a war they do not realise they have already lost."

Oceanus sighs. "People are not happy," he admits.

"People?" demands Kronos. "What do I care about people?"

" _ _Titans__ aren't happy," clarifies Oceanus.

"And why aren't titans happy?" asks Kronos, prodding, probing, and, Percy suspects, trying to provoke Oceanus.

"They think it's unnecessary and that you're judging this poorly," says the other titan, shortly.

"They have never accused me of poor judgement before," Kronos says quietly.

Oceanus stays silent.

"Perhaps they think that being stuck in this mortal body is clouding my vision?" suggests Kronos.

"Perhaps," says Oceanus.

"Perhaps you would like to rule Othrys instead of me?" asks Kronos.

There is a long pause, during which Percy realises that he's been holding the same spoonful of cereal hovering over his bowl for the duration of the conversation. He eats it hastily, hoping neither titan noticed or took offence at his interest in the conversation.

Finally, Oceanus speaks again. "No," he says. "I would not want to rule Othrys."

"Good," says Kronos. "Then perhaps you could tell me why 'people' are unhappy?"

"They think that you're giving the demigod too much. You sit him on Rhea's throne, dress him in finery, and order the mortals to worship him. There are even rumours that you plan to have a temple built for him."

"If you had bothered to venture halfway down the mountain at any point over the last week or two, you would have seen that the temple's construction is already well under way. You think I should not?"

"I would prefer it if he was a prisoner," says Oceanus.

"He __is__ a prisoner," points out Kronos.

"You know what I mean, brother. I would prefer to see him in chains, to see him defeated. Surely it damages the rebels' morale more to see the hero they all looked up to broken by the titan lord than to see him healthy and well-kept?"

"I would like that too," says Kronos, giving Percy an unsettling stare. "I look forward to the day when I will have him chained like an animal to the foot of my throne, begging with his eyes for scraps from my table. He'll be muzzled like a dangerous animal, to stop him from biting, and perhaps I will take him for walks around the mountain in my spare time. But if I were to do that now, it would make him as good as a martyr. He would become a rallying cry for them, a symbol of what they see as the tyranny of our rule. Humans will fight all the more strongly for something that has been taken from them, but for that thing to leave them of its own free will is more crushing than any defeat in battle. So, for as long as the Romans continue to hold us at bay, for as long as the rebels carry out their foolish guerilla war, he stays like this. Tell me again, how is it unnecessary?"

"Did he know of the Romans?" asks Oceanus, and certainly, that particular piece of information __had__ caught Percy's attention.

Kronos, though, shrugs. "Does it matter? My question was how my treatment of Perseus is unnecessary."

Oceanus is silent, though the glimpses Percy sneaks out of the corner of his eye show the titan of the seas trying to find a way of disagreeing that isn't outright mutiny. He doesn't find one.

"Might I ask who exactly it is that has expressed… dissatisfaction?" asked Kronos.

"I have to insist that the demigod is not present for that conversation," said Oceanus.

Kronos nods. "Percy," he says, and Percy looks up before realising Perses is the one being addressed."Take Perseus somewhere else. Perhaps you should show him the temple being built in his honour, to remind him of all we are doing for him."

Perses nods, and Percy stuffs the last mouthfuls of his meals down before rising to follow the titan out. He knows far better than to try and eavesdrop.

* * *

The temple is a monster.

It's one of the largest on Othrys, and supposedly, twenty other buildings were demolished to make room for it. Percy doesn't ask where the occupants of those buildings are now. He knows that the titans could probably construct it more or less instantly with magic, but instead it's being built by hand, with hundreds of slaves labouring day and night to shift enormous blocks of stone into place. Looking at them, he wonders if this is how the Pharaohs felt seeing the pyramids built. From where he and Perses stand, they look like ants crawling over a lump of sugar.

"It is smaller than Kronos', of course," says Perses, conversationally.

"Of course," Percy agrees blandly.

"But apart from that, you'll have one of the largest temples on the mountain. I hear the mortals tremble at the mention of your name, now."

Percy looks down at some of the mortals in question. He doesn't __feel__ all-powerful.

"Can we go for a closer look?" he asks. "I'd be interested to see how it's built," he says when Perses gives him a questioning look. Really, though, he feels he has a duty to the people building it. Some of them will die here, he's pretty sure. It's a massive, dangerous project, and he can't imagine the titans are particularly hot on health and safety regulations. Trying to learn some of their names is the least he can do.

"Sure," says Perses, and proceeds to remain exactly where he is, so Percy takes the lead and makes his way down the path towards the construction site.

The closer Percy gets, the larger the temple seems to grow. From further up the hill, it had seemed like only the foundations were complete, but up close he can see that the walls are dozens of feet high already. The workers part before them as they approach, bowing low, fear in their eyes. Percy wants to brandish his cuffs at them to scream that he's as much a slave to the titans as they are, but he knows that if he does anything which stands a genuine chance of damaging Kronos' plans for him, then his friends' lives are forfeit.

He realises that even the thing he came down here for – to talk to the workers, to learn the names of those who would die in his, is fruitless. What does it matter to them if he knows who they are? There is no-one left to argue against Kronos' version of events, and as far as they're concerned, he's an evil overlord who's more likely to have them executed than to say 'thank you'.

"Is someone in charge here?" he asks Perses.

The titan nods, and leads him past the huge altar being set up in front of the building, and into the inner sanctum, where a giant stands in the centre, shouting orders and abuse alternately at the workers hurrying around him. With him is a human-looking girl with a clipboard and pencil tucked behind her ear, standing, Percy can't help but notice, just out of reach of the giant's arms.

"How goes it?" asks Perses, and the two of them turn and kneel at the sight of the titan.

"My lords," says the giant. The girl stays silent, and Percy notices cuffs, similar to his own, on her wrists. His own have been disguised as decorative bracelets, but she has no façade of collaboration to keep up, and so they sit in plain sight. She's a demigod, or something else from the Greek world, and she has some kind of power the titans wish to suppress. She was a threat, and now she's a slave.

"Well, Perseus?" asks Perses, and Percy realises they're waiting for him to say something.

"How long will it take for the temple to be finished?" he asks. "Er, you can stand."

"We believe it should be up to two months for the main structure to be finished, my lord," says the giant, rising to his feet. "If you wish it, we can begin worship at that point, or we can wait until the decoration is finished, which might take another three, or perhaps four months."

"Right," says Percy. "That's good."

Is it good? He doesn't know. Is it better that it's finished quickly and the workers are safe, or will they simply be moved on to another, more dangerous project, dedicated to a titan who might kill half of them for being a minute late.

"Is it good?" asks Perses, but his tone suggests a different meaning to the question than the one in Percy's head. "That seems awfully slow to me."

"We are going as fast as we can, my lord," says the giant. "The humans are slow and weak, though. They struggle to raise the stone up, and the more you beat them, the weaker they become."

"I think this temple should be entirely completed in four months at the very latest," says Perses, "and if it is not, then there will be an opening for the position of supervisor."

"Yes, my lord," says the giant.

"As for your assistant," says Perses, looking at the girl, his gaze turning predatory, "I'm sure I can find a better use for her. As a bedwarmer, perhaps. That said, I'm beginning to think I shouldn't even wait." He reaches out and takes her chin in his hand, stroking it with his thumb. "What do you think, Perseus?"

There's a look of disgust in the girl's eyes, though she's trying desperately to keep a neutral expression. All of them know that she's vulnerable: if a titan wants her, she can't fight them off and no-one will stop them.

Except, perhaps, Percy.

"I don't know; I think kidnapping the staff might delay the temple construction a little," he says.

"It's not kidnap if I already own her," says Perses, a sentence which definitely ranks in the top three creepiest things anyone has said to Percy today. "Besides, what can she be doing that's so important?" There's a glint in his eye that's worryingly similar to Kronos, a glimpse of the same kind of deep-seated madness that the titan lord has.

"If she's here at all, it must be because she's doing something," begins Percy, but Perses cuts him off before he can go any further.

"Is she doing anything?" the titan asks the giant, who shifts nervously.

"Nothing that can't be done by another slave if you want this one, my lord," he says.

Perses grins and rests his hand on the girl's back. Percy notices her subconsciously lean away from the touch before catching herself. "That settles that, then," he says. "She's coming with me then. Of course, a mortal girl is unlikely to occupy me for long. If someone else were to make a claim on her, I would be unlikely to argue. I'd find some nymph more capable of keeping up with me. If no-one steps forward, though… I'll have fun tonight."

Percy doesn't exactly have any trouble seeing what Perses was doing. The girl will come with one of them, and if it's Perses, there's no question about what he'll do to her. If it's Percy, on the other hand, there's no question about what people will __say__ he does to her. It's another titan ploy to tarnish him that little bit more in the eyes of the world, by making him choose between the girl's safety or his own reputation.

It's no kind of contest. "I'll have her," he says.

Perses' response is to shove the girl in Percy's direction, forcing him to catch her as she stumbles into him. "Have fun with her," he says. "We'll go and drop her off in your rooms for later." Then he turns to the giant. "I hope your replacement isn't as pretty as this one, otherwise you might find yourself short-staffed again," he says with a laugh that wouldn't be out of place in a horror movie.

* * *

The rest of Percy's day is, as always, exhausting. It's a whirlwind of events, sitting in on all the things the titans think he should be seen at, but which aren't important enough for him to actually learn anything of importance. There's a brief respite, when, wandering along the corridors of Othrys, he stumbles into a beautiful garden, bursting with colours, dazzling against the black of the rest of the palace. Perses hurries him out again, saying they need to be somewhere, and when Percy tries to find it again later, he gets hopelessly lost.

When evening comes, Percy tells Stephen to bring food for two to his chambers. He isn't sure how to explain that he's accidentally ended up with a concubine, so he pretends not to see the confused look on his slave's face. At this point, he has to wonder how much it really matters if one more person thinks the worst of him anyway.

The walk back to his chambers is a tense one, if only because he doesn't know what to say to the girl when he gets there. Perses' presence doesn't help either. The titan of destruction seems to have been brought to life by the prospect of sex, cracking crude jokes for the whole journey, before pushing Percy through the doors to his room with the command to "Have fun."

The girl is sitting on his bed in red and black lingerie, heavily made up, lipstick bright against the paler pink of her skin, and as he stumbles in, still off-balance from Perses' push, Percy instinctively averts his gaze, acutely aware of what is expected of him.

"Oh, hi," he says.

"My lord," is the answer he gets, delivered in a flat monotone.

"Do you have any, uh, clothes you could put on?" he asks.

"I was told they'd be brought in the morning," she says. Right. Of course. No-one expects them to have any need for clothes until then. He realises that either some one has told her to strip off like this, or she's chosen to do it herself in a bid to win his favour and make things easier for herself. He isn't sure which thought is worse. And he still doesn't know where to look.

Although it's Autumn by now – October, if he had to guess – the California days are still warm, and Percy's shirt stinks of sweat from the day spent traipsing over the mountain, so he can't exactly offer it to the girl. Instead, he goes over to the bed, sweeping up the covers. "Here," he says, laying them over her shoulders. She stares at the floor.

"What's your name?" he asks, taking a seat next to her.

"Eliza, my lord," she says, still not looking at him.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Percy." She doesn't reply to that, so he asks another question. "How old are you?"

"Fifteen." A couple of years younger than him, then.

"Where are you from, Eliza?"

"Washington."

"Is that Washington State or D.C.?"

"State."

"I've been there, once. It's a beautiful part of the world, even if I didn't exactly get the chance to admire the views while I was there. I'm from New York City. You ever been?" She looks at him properly for the first time as he's speaking, curious about where this is going, and he in turn finds himself propelling the conversation along, just doing what he can to keep it going and to put her at ease if he can.

"No, my lord."

"You don't need to call me 'my lord'," he says. "It's an incredible place. I've never seen anything like it. Othrys is a pretty busy place, but when people call New York the city that never sleeps, they're not exaggerating. Whatever time of day or night you're out, there's always something going on, something new to try or some new place to discover. Of course, it helps that my Mom lives – lived – there. It's home, I guess. The best place in New York, though, is a little outside the city – it's Montauk beach, up on Long Island. It's this beautiful stretch of sand that shows you every side of the ocean – sometimes it's wild and uncontrollable, sometimes it's calm and peaceful. Sometimes it's grey, and sometimes it's this amazing blue, brighter than you ever thought the sea could be outside of movies. It's-" he begins, but finds he's run out of things to say. "It's not very surprising for a son of Poseidon's favourite place, I guess."

They sit in silence for a moment while he tries to figure out where to go next, but to his surprise, it's the girl who breaks it.

"You sound like you miss it," she says.

He sighs. "Yeah. I do."

"If you don't mind me asking, my lord… why don't you just go back?"

He swallows. "It's complicated," he tells her, and is grateful to be spared having to explain more by Stephen opening the door, balancing two plates of food in his hands. As soon as the slave catches sight of the two of them there on the bed, though, he freezes. The plates wobble, but he's too well-trained to drop them. "Liz?" he asks.

There's a pause. "Steve?"

"What are you doing here?" he asks helplessly.

Percy can't help but register the way both their eyes keep flicking towards him, believing that they're unable to speak freely in front of him, before Eliza answers. "Lord Perseus took me from the construction crew on his temple," she says. "I… I suppose he felt he had more use for me here."

"My lord?" asks Stephen, looking over to him, eyes wide, horrified by the fate to which the girl on Percy's bed has already resigned herself.

"You two know each other?" asks Percy.

Stephen gapes, suddenly realising that admitting that to the titans might not be safe. "I – we-"

"He's my brother," Eliza cuts in. "My lord." She doesn't look up as Percy turns his head back towards her.

Percy stands and takes the plates from his slave, handing one of them to Eliza. "I'm not going to hurt your sister," he says. "You don't need to worry about her."

Stephen's eyes flick over to her again, and he clearly doesn't believe Percy, but both of them know that there's not exactly anything he can do.

"Perses will be suspicious if she leaves my rooms too soon," Percy explains, "but you should see if you can find a place for her with you, for the future." Stephen still looks hesitant, so Percy resorts to an outright order. "Stephen, go."

"You promise not to…" begins Stephen, but can't seem to get the words out. Maybe it's because he knows that if Percy truly wants something, he can do nothing to stop the son of Poseidon.

But Percy doesn't want what Stephen fears. "I promise," he says.

The boy nods, and leaves.

* * *

Another month passes. Percy continues to uneasily adapt to titan rule, reining himself in and staying out of the way.

At first, he makes Eliza spend a couple more nights with him to avoid arousing Perses's suspicion, which the two of them sleep through with their backs to each other. Sometimes he tries to make conversation, but while she doesn't outright ignore him, nor does she engage with him more than giving monosyllabic answers to his questions. Perses makes crude jokes about her, which Percy forces himself to laugh off. Fortunately, the titan spends the rest of the time his usual quiet and impassive self, except when Eos intercepts them and drapes herself over him, all the while smiling coyly over his shoulder at Percy. While the experience as a whole keeps Percy as on-edge as ever, he gradually stops sending for his slave, seeing that the titans are well occupied with other things.

Neither Stephen nor Eliza are comfortable with the arrangement – of course they aren't – but they seem to understand that Percy has their best interests at heart, even if he can't exactly explain the details of his relationship with the titans to them. At least, he __hopes__ their acquiescence stems from trust rather than fear.

And then, one day, he and Perses stumble upon that small garden again, in no particular hurry this time, and he stops to admire it. The flowers give off a rich variety of aromas, and show off such a dazzling display of colours, that Percy can't help thinking that this is what freedom was like: the days before the titans. Freedom, as though responding to his summons, chooses that moment to reveal itself.

"Hi there, Percy," says Eos.

Percy and Perses both turn at the mention of their name, and both draw a sharp breath at the sight of the titaness of dawn, who is dressed provocatively in a translucent gown through which the lingerie beneath is visible.

Percy decides the best policy is a polite "My lady," and moves on through the garden, but Perses seems less set on ignoring the sight before his eyes. "Eos," he says, his voice hoarse, stepping towards her.

And then, suddenly, she is being borne past Percy in the titan of destruction's arms, leaning over his shoulder towards Percy: " _ _Listen__ ," she spits at him, disgust in her eyes.

And then the two of them are gone, and Percy cannot quite believe it. The simple fact that Perses is being lax is no great surprise, but the exact way in which his carelessness has manifested certainly is. It is as though the two titans, one ruled by his libido and the other going to extreme lengths in her attempts to make Percy jealous, have forgotten that he is supposed to be their prisoner. As though they have been taken in by their own propaganda.

Percy steps cautiously out into the hall, careful not to step too loudly on the black marble floor.

He looks to the left.

He looks to the right.

There is not a single guard in sight.

He realises that Perses' carelessness is not the golden opportunity it had seemed for a moment. The cuffs hidden on his wrists still make any kind of escape attempt impossible, but even so, he has a short amount of time in which he can roam freely throughout Othrys, unsupervised. Where does he need to go?

There are any number of places in this mountain the titans do not want him, and any number of prisoners he has to explain himself to. He scrolls mentally through the list, feeling helpless at the sheer quantity of names he is able to come up with.

But there is only one who might be able to give him any answers.

* * *

Nico's cell is dark and dingy, and Percy can't help but think that were he there by choice, the son of Hades might actually quite like it. As it is, his ankles are connected by a long, heavy chain to the wall, he is wearing similar cuffs to Percy's, and he looks utterly, utterly miserable. Not that that's any great difference from before they lost the war. As Percy enters, his eyes flick up towards the son of Poseidon and darken into a scowl.

"What do you want?" he asks.

"I need your help," says Percy.

"And why's that? You seem to have things set up quite nicely here."

Percy swallows. There's an ominous feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he has to see if Nico can help him. "I'm not what they're making me out to be," he tells Nico. "I'm still me."

"Forgive me if I'm a little sceptical, but I seem to remember that the last meeting we had involved Clarisse being beaten to a pulp, and since then the guards don't seem able to stop talking about how you're basically Kronos' second-in-command now. There's one telekhine that even thinks you're the power behind the throne, but the others shouted him down before he could say anything else. They reckon Kronos is too crafty to let some upstart demigod manipulate him. Me, I'm just sitting here knowing that I'm in a cell in chains while you're walking freely around Othrys."

"I wish," said Percy. "Look, they still have me in these cuffs." He lifts his arms to show Nico the black metal against his skin, and even now he can feel it leeching off him. It gets Nico's attention, for sure: the son of Hades pauses before speaking again.

"What is it you want, Percy?" he asks. "I can't imagine I can offer a lot of help to you from here."

It's an opening, at least, and Percy will take it gratefully. "I need a way to get these cuffs off. If I can at least use my powers, I'd stand a chance of getting people out, of starting some new resistance. They mentioned Romans or something, maybe they can help us. If you can tell me where my sword is or give me an escape route off the mountain, that would be great too, but it's worthless as long as these things are still on my wrists. I thought that… well, they're Stygian iron, right? I thought you might have an idea how to get them off."

Nico thinks, painfully slowly. Percy's expecting Perses to rocket around the door at any moment. "We don't have long," he says.

"How do I know this isn't some trick?" asks Nico.

"What could they gain by sending me here to ask how to get the cuffs off?" asks Percy.

Nico shrugs. "I don't know. He's called 'the Crooked One' for a reason, though."

"Don't be ridiculous," says Percy, but Nico shakes his head before the sentence is even finished.

"I'm not being ridiculous, though," he says. "Don't you understand what it's been like down here? I can't speak to anyone, and all the news I get from the outside world is what the guards give me with my bowl of water and crust of bread twice a day. Maybe you're what you say, but all I've got to compare it with is the news that thirty slaves have died building your temple and that you swore to tear out Zeus' throat with your bare hands if you ever had the chance. I don't know what's true anymore."

"Thirty-seven slaves," says Percy, quietly. "It was thirty-seven."

"I don't care how many, Percy. It doesn't matter. I'll need an oath."

"An oath?"

"That you are what you say. That you are __who__ you say."

"I am, I swear it."

" _ _On Styx__ , Percy. Swear that you haven't stopped fighting them every bit as hard as you were for the year we spent travelling across the country."

"I swear – I swear on the River Styx that…" the words seem to catch in his mouth. Can he, truthfully, make that oath? __I want to say sorry to Annabeth__ are the words that immediately spring to the front of his mind for some reason, but they too are not what Nico wants to hear. "…that I don't want this to end with them winning," he finishes.

Nico raises an eyebrow at the change to the wording, but it seems to be enough. "I think I know how to get them off," he admits. "Stygian iron is used for the rarer, nastier forms of magic, but I think I've heard of this sort from some particularly old ghosts."

"Why haven't you got out already then?" asks Percy.

"The ritual needs two people," Nico tells him shortly. "And something sharp. You said you didn't have Riptide?"

"Or any other weapon."

"We can't get you out now then. You'll need to get something appropriate – anything will do, but a sword or dagger would be best – and then get here without picking up any titans on your way. I can't promise I'll be in any condition to shadow travel us away, so you'll need an alternative escape route too."

Percy nods. "I can manage that. Can you do it more than once? Kronos will start killing prisoners if I try to escape, and I don't want to leave anyone behind."

"Maybe," says Nico, not meeting his eyes. "Most of the prisoners don't actually have these. It's only demigods with significant powers, like us, or ones who are being made to work as slaves around the mountain who have them. They took Clarisse's off once she was safe inside her cell. But even if you can't get everyone out you have to make sure you're not recaptured."

"That's not imp-"

"It __is__ important!" hisses Nico. "Don't you understand? It's why the titans are so desperate to hammer home that you're theirs now. You're the face of Olympus, for better or worse. We've fucked up too many times already, but if it happens again then this is __over,__ then they have __won__. I know you have this hero complex where nobody gets left behind, but if you get captured then it doesn't matter, because everyone is as good as dead, inside Othrys or out of it. Okay? So if you want my help on this, then I want another oath on Styx: that you won't risk yourself for anyone else on the way out."

Percy hesitates, a long silence that seems to stretch out like elastic, ready to injure someone when it snaps back in.

It's Nico who breaks the tension. "I thought we didn't have long?" he says.

"Fine," snaps Percy. "I swear on the Styx not to take any __unreasonable__ risks for anyone else on the way out."

"You're an idiot," mutters Nico, but there's a kind of wryness to it that Percy's pleased to notice. "Remember: a weapon and an escape plan. Now, get out of my cell before someone starts to suspect something."

"Thank you," says Percy. "I'll see you soon."

The cell door closes quietly behind him, and he returns the keys to the jailer, who is fortunately not important enough to know that Percy is not quite the collaborator the titan propaganda machine portrays him as. In the corridors of Othrys' prison level, the draughts seem to have come alive with excitement, with anticipation for what is to come, with __dang__ -

His thoughts are unpleasantly interrupted by a meaty hand connecting suddenly with his face and sending him flying across the floor. His brain has barely processed the blow when he receives a kick to the ribs that sends him rolling again.

He struggles quickly to his feet and sees that his assailants are two titans: Menoetius and Lelantos. Neither one quite at Kronos' ear, but nevertheless dangerous opponents to have. And neither has made their displeasure at Percy's presence on Othrys hard to see.

"Let's not be hasty," he wheezes. "I'd hate to think you might kill me and then regret it later…"

Menoetius pulls out a spear and Lelantos draws a sword. "This is no mistake, sea scum," says the latter.

Percy takes a look at their weapons, takes into consideration his own distinct lack of the same, and comes to the conclusion that he is entirely screwed. Knowing that he stands no chance in a straight fight, he turns and sprints down the hall, hoping to find safety somewhere else in the mountain fortress.

The two titans shout angrily and pursue him. Lelantos especially turns out to be faster than Percy, but the demigod pulls vases and other ornaments down from the sides of the corridors into the titans' path to slow them down, as well as taking as many turns as possible to try and lose them or at least slow them down. He struggles up one staircase, then another, before realising that he has been gradually making his way to the throne room.

To Kronos.

It's all for nothing, though. He's barely halfway there when Lelantos catches him by the ankle, tripping him and sending him sprawling on the floor, which he skids along for several metres before slowing to a complete halt. He tries to rise to begin running again, but the titan pins him in place.

"Do you mind explaining your evil plan in great detail so I have time to plan another escape?" asks Percy.

"The plan is that you die, half-blood," says Menoetius, catching up with them. So much for them being too afraid of Kronos to actually try and kill Percy. Menoetius nods to Lelantos, who raises his sword.

"WHAT IS THIS?" comes a voice. It's deep, ancient, smooth, and unmistakable. Kronos stands there, in Luke's body, his scythe drawn.

"My lord -" begins Lelantos, but Kronos has no intention of hearing him out. He screams, a yell made of no words, just mindless fury. He swings the scythe at his nephew, who barely raises his sword in time to parry the blow. Menoetius, apparently accepting that they are now engaged in outright mutiny, leaps in with his spear to help his comrade, but Kronos handles him easily. The three titans duel there, over Percy, and while Kronos seems to have the upper hand, nor can he land a decisive blow.

Then, suddenly, Perses and Atlas come barrelling around the corner, followed by a host of other titans, the most Percy has seen in one place since his very first day on Othrys. Most simply stand and gawk, but Percy's two guards join Kronos' side in the duel, and the would-be assassins are overwhelmed and disarmed in moments.

"Chain them, guard them," orders Kronos. In a wave of his hand the scythe is gone, and he comes over to crouch by Percy. "How are you?" he asks, cupping the bruise forming on Percy's cheek where he was first struck.

"Alright," Percy manages to gasp out. "I'm alright." It's more or less true – he's hurting and shaking, but he thinks it's more from shock than anything else, and his wounds certainly aren't particularly serious.

"Here," says Kronos, offering his arm to help Percy up. And so the son of Poseidon finds himself staggering through the halls of Othrys, leaning on his grandfather for support. There are slaves and spirits along the way, trying and failing to look uninterested in their appearance, but Kronos dismisses them with a wave of his free hand.

Eventually, they are in an area where Percy has never been before: Kronos' private chambers. They're mostly bare, but what there is – a wardrobe, a huge bed with thick covers, among other things – is ornate and super-sized. Kronos lifts Percy easily onto the bed, where he lies motionless, uncertain what will happen next.

"Stay here," commands the titan king returning to the door. "There are matters with which I must deal."

Percy drifts off into a light sleep. The bed is possibly the comfiest he has ever experienced, and it's impossible to resist its call.

He doesn't know how long he's there for, but he's woken by Kronos' re-entrance. The titan is moving sluggishly, swaying from side to side, a sour expression on his face. When he leans down close to Percy, the smell of alcohol permeates his breath.

"They thought they had a right to you," says Kronos. Percy doesn't answer: his throat is seizing up in panic.

"They thought they could take your life, just because they wanted," says Kronos, reaching around to hold Percy by the back of his neck. "They need to be taught a lesson."

Percy might agree with that, except there's a strange look on Kronos' face, and a drunk titan is even more unpredictable than usual.

"I'll show them who you belong to," says Kronos. "I'll show __you__ who you belong to…" His arms slide down the demigod's body and start fumbling with Percy's belt.

"No," utters Percy, trying to twist away, trying to writhe out of the titan's grasp. Kronos, though, is not drunk enough for it to be possible. He pins Percy down, pushing him into the covers with one hand and undoing the buttons on the boy's trousers with the other.

"You're __mine__ ," says Kronos. "All mine. No-one else's, no-one else's. I __own__ you, Jackson. Everything you are, forever and always." He chuckles. "For better and for worse, in sickness and in health, 'till death do us… no, that's not right. Titans don't die." He chuckles again, pulling Percy's trousers down and dragging his body over the son of Poseidon to pin him down with his body weight as he turns his attention to his own garments.

Percy is still hopelessly trying to wriggle free, but the titan is far too heavy for that, and he can feel the hardness against his thigh, feels Kronos shifting and placing hands on his hips to try and find a better angle, then -

The door swings open. "My lord!" says Atlas.

Kronos is up with a shout of "WHAT?", his dick flailing comically in the air and his eyes blazing with fury, but all Percy can think is __thank the gods__ that the titan's off him. He gulps in huge breaths of air, finally able to breathe again.

"My lord, two prisoners have escaped," says Atlas.

"What do I care about two prisoners?" demands Kronos.

Atlas hesitates, and Kronos seems to notice something in the other titan's demeanour. " _ _Which__ two prisoners?" he asks slowly.

"Two demigods," says Atlas. "A son of Athena and a daughter of Ares: Malcolm Pace and Clarisse la Rue."

* * *

 ** **So, titan rule is basically built around sexual dominance and threat - I'm not sure how that happened, but oh well. Probably something Freud would be interested by in my subconscious. I should reassure you that this is as bad as it will get in the story. I feel it warrants an M rating, but I hope none of you are**** _ _ **too**__ ** **traumatised by the experience.****

 ** **What you might be traumatised by, though, is the amount of time you waited for this chapter. Sorry about that.****

 ** **Thanks very much as always to my golden set of reviewers:****

 ** **To Quihi, I'm really glad you liked the inclusion of Peleus. I always felt he was severely underused in the books - I mean, they have a literal flying, fire-breathing dragon, and he gets about three mentions across the whole series? What a waste. As far as Philip's concerned, I honestly don't think it occurred to me that his intentions might be in doubt. That's kind of a shame, as I missed an opportunity to mess with my readers' heads and emotions - but then again, this story probably has enough ups and downs anyway, so maybe it's not such a bad thing!****

 ** **To ShadowsClaw, I'm glad that you're enjoying the story, (at least, I hope you still are after this chapter) and I'm even gladder that you haven't been holding your breath since... *checks watch* *checks phone* *checks calendar* *checks constellations and planetary positions* ... December. Since December. That's... well, you made a good decision in not holding your breath. Well done.****

 ** **To AnnaUnicorn, I'm glad you agree with me that shooting people is the ultimate romantic gesture! And while I'm sorry not to provide any this time around, I'm sure I can fit in some Percabeth fluff in the next chapter.****

 ** **And to aRTsyisAwesome, (wow, that's some name to have to type) thank you very much for your enthusiastic review! As far as distinguishing between 'past' Percy and 'present' Percy goes, I think that I'm far enough in that it's just too much hassle to go back and change at this point, and hopefully the regular alternation between the two and the changes in tense are enough to make it clear - but it's something I'll bear in mind in case I ever mess around with time again in future stories! I'm also glad (yes, 'glad' again. Hey, there are only so many words in the English language I can use to say I'm happy) that you though I managed to convey some sparks with Kronos, as I was kind of going for that - but I also hope I managed to convey in this chapter how that would be a Very Bad Thing! I should reassure you that while Percy is still stuck in Othrys, the wheels are in motion and things are going to get a little more exciting in the titan HQ from now on.****

 ** **Finally, to Marco, who said he hated this story because Percy is a weak slave - well first off that's a great shame and I'm sorry you wasted your time reading all 45,000 words of it before deciding you didn't like it. Personally, though, I do feel like Percy's concern for his friends justifies his co-operation with the titans for now, if not indefinitely. Having said that, on the off-chance that you are still reading this, I should point out to you too that there are wheels in motion and things will not always be as they are now.****

 ** **Lastly I should say that the final 3000 words or so of this are pretty much unedited, so sorry about any mistakes there.****

 ** **And that's that. Until next time, amigos, when we will be catching up with some demigods on the run.****

 ** **-IADJB****


	8. Out of Nowhere

**Prized Possession**

 **8: Out of Nowhere**

" _A hero is someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom." - Bob Dylan_

Percy staggered through the bushes, thorns and branches tearing at his hair and clothes. He ripped his shirt in several spots wrenching himself free, knowing that the thorns would simply bounce off his iron skin whether he was careful or not. They were small annoyances, easy to ignore – the real pain was the one twisting in his gut.

He didn't know how far he'd run, only that it wasn't far enough. His mind, fogged over with the haze of confusion from the shooting, screamed at him to run faster and further, that he had done something from which he would never be able to separate himself again.

He could hear his friends' shouts in the distance, calling for him to come back, but he ignored them, ploughing on into the unknown wilderness.

He only had one identity now: that of a murderer. And before long, the voices faded away into the distance.

A small, rational part of his mind pointed out that Morris had been about to shoot Annabeth, that it was her life or his, that Percy had had little choice in his actions.

The rest of his brain drowned it out with an unceasing chorus of _should_ s, _could_ s and _would_ s.

 _I should have aimed for the leg._

 _I could have saved her without using the gun._

 _She's a demigod; she would have moved in time._

 _He might not even have been about to shoot._

He lost balance as his foot slammed into a root, and in another moment his hands plunged into the earth beneath him, but he dug his feet into the ground and stumbled on through the undergrowth.

The undergrowth in question, though, was not as extensive as it had looked from the outside, and before long, he found himself in the open, on the sloping shores of a large lake. The other shore looked like it was maybe half a mile away, while it stretched all the way to a large dam in the far distance to his left, and even further out of his sight to the right. The breeze ruffled his hair as he stood there, still disorientated, searching desperately for a new escape route, before he followed the path of least resistance, the way that seemed most comforting to him: the way down to the water.

He felt the cool rush of peace and rejuvenation as his hands broke the surface, followed swiftly by his face and the rest of his body as he submerged himself fully, trying to calm and slow his racing heart and frantic mind. The dirt he had picked up was lifted from his skin, and he saw it float away above him. He vaguely registered fish and naiads scattering away from him, apparently having sensed the raging emotions inside him and choosing not to put themselves in harm's way.

It only took seconds for the floor of the lake to flatten out, and there he curled up into a ball, shielding himself from the outside world, as he tried to make sense of the mess he'd made.

He had killed a man.

His friends had looked horrified after he had done so, and as he'd panicked, he had fled.

But however hard he wrestled with the idea, he couldn't work out how he himself felt about it. Had Morris deserved to die? Was the threat he had made to Percy and his friends worth his life?

Percy would have given anything to know what would have happened if he hadn't shot. But that path was closed to him, and for lack of a better option he stayed there, motionless at the bottom of the lake, confident that none of his friends would find him there.

And without a phone, without a clock, without any trace of civilisation nearby, who was to say he shouldn't just stay there forever, as though time was standing still and nothing ever changed?

As though he'd never touched a weapon in his life…

* * *

He didn't know how long he'd been floating there when his arms bumped against the ground, startling him out of his miserable daydream and prompting him to sit up and look around himself.

He'd drifted into the shallows, to the point where the water would no longer cover him completely. Otherwise, though, the lake and its surroundings looked no differently from when he had entered them.

"Perseus," came a woman's voice.

It didn't give him the same kind of feeling he normally got when someone spoke his full name, the feeling of breached privacy and vulnerability. Instead, it was a warm and inviting sensation, aided by the rich smoothness in which the word was spoken. He didn't resist as a pair of hands reached gently into the water and lifted him to his feet, supporting him and guiding him to the shore and up the hill.

He looked around in a daze, to see that his new companion was a beautiful dark-haired woman, perhaps a handful of years older than himself. Her eyes were a startling black that stood out against the paleness of her skin in the same way the hair did, but all were overshadowed by the bright red, moist lips that his eyes were instinctively drawn to.

She smiled as she saw him looking at her. "Come with me, Perseus," she said, "you have been drifting for far too long."

Words failed him for some reason, so he gave her a dopey smile to show some gratitude to her for taking him out of the water. Now he thought about it, there wasn't really any reason for him to be in there, was there? "Mmmm," he said to agree with himself that there wasn't.

He was rewarded with the white flash of the woman's teeth as she laughed, a joyous sound that filled him with hope. He couldn't even remember why he'd been hiding in the lake like a coward when there was beauty such as this in the world above.

She led him to the treeline, some distance from the water, where she sat him resting against the trunk of the largest tree in the area. He looked up at her expectantly, not sure if she had brought him here for any reason other than relaxation, but certain that if something new were to happen, then he should be ready to follow the path she laid out for him. She bared her teeth again in a soft smile as she knelt by his side and rested her hands on his sides, and he smiled back. Then his world dissolved into soft-focus and glowing lights as she leant forwards and kissed him.

It took his lips a couple of moments to figure out the best way to respond, and by the time his brain instructed them to push back and mould themselves around the woman's, she had moved to his right, kissing along his cheek before reaching and whispering into his ear: "So, you were supposed to be the Hero of Olympus, hmm?"

Her hands shifted then, slender fingers seeking purchase on his shirt, and, finding it, began to ease the fabric up his body, revealing the muscles on his stomach and chest before it slipped over his head. He whimpered at the loss of contact, but was quieted in an instant as she put a finger to his lips and her mouth to his neck.

"Hush, Perseus," she said between nips and kisses. "I would hate for you not to enjoy our time together, brief as it must be."

 _Brief_? he tried to ask, but there seemed to be a disconnect between his mind and his mouth, and it came out more like "Bruh?"

Her reply was to giggle softly and sketch a shape only she could see on his belly.

"Just _relax_ ," she told him, her fangs poking cutely out of the corners of her mouth as she moved her hands to wrestle with his belt. "It will all go much more smoothly if you co-operate."

He had a vague sensation that there was something he wasn't quite getting. He knew the water would sober him up, but it was an awfully _long_ way away, and while he could sense it over there, it didn't seem to react to his call. Not to worry though: whatever it was could certainly wait. After all, they were just going to have a good time, weren't they?

"You look _delicious_ ," she said as the belt came off and the jeans were dragged down his legs, where they, along with his shoes and socks, were tossed aside, as though she was undressing a patient incapable of looking after themselves. She gave another giggle as she squeezed the hard shape visible through his boxer-briefs, and he spent a moment considering whether he should be offended or not by that response. Such thoughts, however, were relegated to the back of his mind when she leaned forwards again to drop further priceless words into his ear. "Just think," she whispered. "What an _honour_ it will be for you to be eaten by Lamia. I am the queen of the monsters who roam this world – and I have not feasted for so very very long. I _starve_ for your blood."

The name Lamia seemed familiar to Percy, and he tried to stop her by standing – just for a moment, so he could get his thoughts straight. The woman seemed much heavier than he had expected, though, and seemed to take his movement – pushing up towards her – as a sign of eagerness.

" _Patience_ , Perseus, I must find your Achilles point. This will only take a moment," she told him, tilting his head to the side for better access. He let her manoeuvre him, figuring that whatever it was could, like everything else, wait until _after_.

She bared her fangs and placed and open-mouthed kiss against his neck again, grazing her teeth roughly against the skin. He realised it was a good thing he had the curse if she was going to get _rough_. That thought was replaced by new expectation as she shifted her position and began running her hands up and down his body, as though she was searching for something. Her touches covered his whole chest, stomach and legs, before slipping round to his sides and back, edging ever closer to his mortal point, and though he still wore his underwear, he felt that this was the climax of their engagement, that this was why she had brought him out of the water. He closed his eyes in readiness, waiting for her to make her move. He felt her breath on his cheeks, her weight on his midriff, and then…

Nothing.

The weight disappeared. The breath ceased. His mind, still fuzzy, began to order itself at least a little more coherently. He opened his eyes to see Annabeth looking at him in a mixture of what was probably disgust, concern and confusion. Her knife was drawn and dust was settling in the ground around her.

"Er… Lamia?" he said, articulate as ever.

"So it seems, Seaweed Brain," she said, depositing a pile of his clothes on top of him. "Go and get changed in the lake. Then we have some talking to do."

* * *

He could see her shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh as he emerged from the lake, even at that distance. His body had thankfully calmed down in the cool water, and his mind had recovered enough that he was unable to leave the water without blushing from head to fortunately-now-covered-toe, but that sigh almost made him turn tail and dive back into the depths, never to return to the surface world.

He didn't, of course. She was waiting for him.

"Do you want to go first, or shall I?" she asked as he sat next to her. "Or would you rather wait until meeting up with the others so you don't have to go through it all twice?"

He shrugged. "I'll go now, I guess. I'd like a rehearsal for facing Clarisse, at least."

She gave a tired smile. "Whenever you're ready then."

He took a deep breath, wondering how to explain his actions with the kind of reasoning that wouldn't leave him seeming totally insane. "I guess I panicked," he began, noticing instantly a twitch in her jaw like she was struggling to hold back a comment. "Yeah, I know," he admitted. "That's an understatement. But anyway, I, er…" He trailed off again, unsure how to explain the frenzied horde of thoughts that had tied themselves to his mind and pulled in four different directions.

Her hand rested on his shoulder. "You can trust me, you know that?"

He looked up into her eyes, and, as always seemed to be the case, found in them exactly the answer he needed in that moment. Right now, they were calmer than usual, the kind of surface on which you could float without fear of storms or shifting seas.

"I know plans for the future aren't worth a whole lot, but I can promise you that this is just between us," she told him. "Without judgement, okay? A life isn't something it's easy to take."

He wasn't sure if it was deliberate or not, but her hand slipped from his shoulder and now hovered perilously close to his Achilles spot, the small of his back: a symbol of the ultimate trust he had placed in her, and which she had not betrayed. "I don't know how Lamia found me," he said. "I don't really even know what happened once she did: the memory's all fuzzy, like it wasn't really me doing those things. But she asked me to go along with her, and it just… I guess it just didn't occur to me that saying no was an option."

"Sounds like it could be charmspeak," she said. "Aphrodite kids get it occasionally. There's one at camp – Drew – where you have to be careful of what she says to you."

"It didn't help that I didn't know what you'd all think of me," he continued. "I mean, when I pulled the trigger, it was because it seemed like the only option, but I kept thinking after that I could have done something else, or at least not aimed for his head. But I had, and now I'm a killer, and it's tough to square that with the idea that I'm supposed to be a hero.

"You know, I didn't kill any of the demigods working for Kronos. I _wouldn't_ kill them. In the battle, I always wounded them, or knocked them unconscious, because with the protection of the curse, I was the one person who was safe enough to do that. I even put the mission on the _Princess Andromeda_ at risk because I told one of them to get off the boat as soon as he could if he wanted to live, and that might have been what got Beckendorf killed, or maybe Silena had told them so much already that it would still have happened if I hadn't. But it's probably best that I don't know the truth, because it might not be a truth I liked if I heard it."

She didn't speak when he paused, as if she knew that there was more to say, that he was only waiting for the strength to force the words out. Her hand stayed steady on his back, apart from her thumb, which rubbed his shoulder reassuringly.

"I did all that because none of them believed they were on the wrong side. They all thought they were brave freedom fighters in the war for a better world, and none of them knew half of the things Kronos has done. I worked so hard to protect them from the fact that they'd picked the wrong side in a war they knew nothing about that I was willing to put my own friends' lives in danger, but Morris was just an unlucky mortal who was trying to look threatening so that he could save his wife, and I killed him for it."

Annabeth was silent for a moment, like she was making a decision, and then: "I killed one of Kronos' demigods in the battle."

He looked up in shock, but she carried on speaking.

"Like you, I was trying to injure them instead of outright killing, but everything was moving too fast, and I couldn't get a safe non-lethal hit in. So I gambled, and it turned out bad. He moved, just enough to the side, that it hit him full on, and… that was that."

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, feeling stupid once he'd said it: if it had been him, he wouldn't have wanted anyone to know he was a killer. Even so, her response surprised him.

"We had more important things to deal with," she said, which made him feel like he'd over-reacted to Morris' death, though he knew the effect wasn't on purpose. "And I rationalised it: this is a war, and people die; it was his life or mine; it was an accident. That doesn't make it right or anything, it doesn't make it somehow okay, but whatever motivated Morris, you can't pretend he was some kind of saint. He was pointing that gun straight at me, Percy. You saved my life."

He searched her face and strained his ears for any trace of doubt or falsehood in her words, but found none. "What about the others?" he asked.

"They understand," she said. "Apart from Clarisse, who's probably still complaining about you running away and abandoning us. But don't worry, I won't give her any more ammunition by telling her about the, um… _little problem_ Lamia gave you."

He blushed and grimaced at that, which Annabeth took as a cue to invite him back into the fold. "Come on, they'll be happy to see you back safe and sound," she said. "We care for you, Percy. Sometimes, I think, more than you know."

* * *

 **No, this chapter is not nearly long enough to justify how long I made you wait for it. Most of the last few months have actually just been me trying to figure out ways to stretch it out, before I eventually realised that it just wasn't happening. They were actually going to unexpectedly bump into Prometheus at one point, which would've been fun, but I couldn't figure out an excuse for him to be in a random bit of Washington, so oh well, that went on the scrapheap too, along with some mediocre attempts at humour and a 17,000 word hallucination sequence in which Percy discovers his whole life up to this point has taken place inside the imagination of a snail in Djibouti.**

 **Now, to all my wonderful reviewers, who'll probably all have to go back and check what they wrote to warrant the response I'm giving:**

 **DeanJackson1411, surpriiiise, neither did Percy! To be honest, this chapter was supposed to be the only vaguely sexual one, so it kinda took me by surprise when I wrote it, too. As for Atlas - well, depends what you mean by friendship. I hope I'm managing to convey in the story that they've both got a certain respect and even liking for one another, but at the end of the day, they're on opposite sides of the war. It's basically like Romeo and Juliet... XD**

 **ShadowsClaw, sorry to keep you waiting so long! I'd like to say the next one will be faster, but we both know there's a strong 99% chance that's not true :D.**

 **ShadowKing042, well, I'm glad you have your priorities about how good Trix are and how bad rape is sorted? Glad you're enjoying it too!**

 **Last but not least (because how could I pick a favourite and least favourite reviewer?), to Unnamed the guest, I agree, life in Othrys is pretty nasty at times - but one step forward is better than none!**

 **Until next time, thank you all for continuing to read, and please feel very welcome to leave a review of your thoughts.**

 **-Jeff.**


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